Just Another Day in the Seychelles
by The Fighting Irishman
Summary: Life on Mother Base can be fun. It can be sad. It can be manic. It can be heartwarming. It can be terrifying. It can be depressing. It can be hopeful. But there is one thing the men and women stationed in the Seychelles can all agree on: it is *never* dull.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

It was one of those grim overcast days on the Seychelles, where the clouds turned grey and reflected on the water, creating an optical illusion where the horizon disappeared and one couldn't tell where the sea began and where the air ended. These were the days that he hated the most; the men were at their most lethargic during days like this, and tempers tended to flare up when people were bored, sitting on what amounted to glorified oil rigs divorced from society. By his last count, four of the last inter-staff fights had happened on days like today. It had better not happen today.

He heard footsteps behind him, and the sound of something clicking, like it was being spun. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and ignored the playful smirk on his companion's face.

"The way you're looking, Miller, it looks like you've got that stick of yours wedged up there tighter than normal." Ocelot said, absently twirling one of his revolvers through his fingers. Master Miller had never been a fan of the practice; even if Ocelot was as adept with those guns as most were adept with their own fingers, it was beyond reckless to play with guns. Not that the man ever listened. Sometimes, Miller thought he was being deliberately childish.

"I'll pretend not to hear that." Miller grumbled, as he continued to stare pensively across the Seychelles. "Days like today bother me, Ocelot. Too quiet, too lethargic…someone is going to blow up. And we're gonna have to pick up the pieces."

"You _do_ realize there are such things as self-fulfilling prophecies, right?" Ocelot asked. "You keep going around looking for phantoms, and before you know it, you're creating the very thing you're trying to avoid."

"It would be easier if there were less things affecting the mens' morale." Miller said. Now it was Ocelot's turn to resist rolling his eyes.

"You're not still bent outta shape about Quiet, are you?"

"That _thing_ has everyone on edge." Miller hissed. "I still think it was the most foolish decision of Boss' life to bring her back, instead of just putting a bullet in her forehead."

"More foolish than deciding to start taking her out on missions?" Ocelot asked, trying not to smile. Miller turned to face him, a frown etched deeply on his face.

"Don't be cute, Ocelot. She's never officially renounced her ties to Cipher-"

"Her not talkin' might have something to do with that…"

"-Which just puts the Boss' life at risk!" Miller growled. "She's waiting for the right moment, and then she'll kill him and our chance at revenge is gone."

"Take a walk with me." Ocelot said. Miller just glared at him. "Or hop, if you prefer me to be technically accurate. Either way, come with me."

Grumbling something to himself, Master Miller leaned against his cane and began to hobble after Ocelot, whose spurred boots clinked with each step.

After a few moments, they'd descended from the second deck of the Command Platform, and were walking out to the helipad. As they got closer, they became aware of music playing. A crate was resting next to the helicopter, with a tape player cranked to maximum volume. Ocelot chuckled.

"I see he's moved to Phil Collins now." The mercenary said. Miller just shook his head. Ocelot sighed, and then turned towards the helicopter. "Pequod! Yo, Pequod!"

Pequod, understandably, wasn't his name. It wasn't even his code name, the defining identity that he carried much like everyone else on the base. "Pequod" was simply a name designated to the Diamond Dogs' helicopter fleet, and any pilot that was charged with carrying the Boss was given that callsign to distinguish them from the pack. There were other names throughout the fleet, of course: "Starbuck," "Stubb" and even "Queequeg" (though Miller hated that name). But there was really only one man that had earned the title of "Pequod."

The man in question popped his head out from the opened door of his helicopter's cargo hold, which the Boss used as an Airborne Command Center.

"You rang?" He asked, a crooked grin on his face.

"Pequod" was a memorable character, even among some of the more prominent figures throughout Mother Base. He was impossibly young for his position (Ocelot estimated mid-twenties, though had never asked for confirmation), and equally as talented as he was young. While there was an expected degree of uniform and decorum for every pilot, Pequod seemed to be the one to whom either the rules did not really apply or the one who simply didn't give a rat's ass. He frequently could be seen getting into his helicopter wearing little more than his combat pants, a plain white t-shirt, and a green army vest. Instead of the helmet that other pilots wore, Pequod wore very oversized headphones, which served just as well as noise-cancellers (though some suspected he chose them because they were easier to jack his Walkman into). In the beginning, Miller had lost count of how many times he'd lectured the young man on proper dress protocol.

But as the man's incredible knack for getting in and out of hot zones added up, Miller's complaints faded away. Now he was just resigned to the young man's eccentricity and cavalier attitude. After all, despite his many quirks and violations of protocol, one thing was apparent: Pequod was dedicated to getting people in and out of sticky situations without a scratch on them.

"Turn that music off for a moment son, I got a few questions." Ocelot said. Pequod looked put-off.

"Aw, really? Right before the drum solo?"

Ocelot tried not to smile.

"You _can_ rewind the thing, can't you?"

"Yeah, but it's not the same…" Pequod muttered. He sat in the cargo hold, his feet dangling over the edge, facing the two lieutenants of the Boss. He pressed a button on a little remote device, and the tape player shut off. Ocelot raised an eyebrow.

"Where'd you get a remote-controled tape player?" He asked. Pequod shrugged.

"Had the eggheads in R&D cook one up for me."

"That's a waste of GMP and staff time, and you know it, soldier!" Miller growled. Pequod shrugged.

"Sir, those guys spend their off time coming up with increasingly byzantine ways to break the laws of science. It took 'em like two minutes to make this thing." Pequod said. "I don't think I wasted anything, just redirected some potentially dangerous Frankenstein experiment from happening. So you're welcome for saving Mother Base, sir. I'll accept my trophy and medal sometime next week."

Ocelot resisted the urge to laugh outright. Miller looked like he was steaming.

"Just answer the questions." He managed to grunt. Ocelot nodded, and turned to Pequod.

"We were wonderin'…how's Quiet been?"

"Quiet." Pequod said.

Despite himself, even Miller had to smile at that one. Ocelot rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Yes, yes, I deserved that one. But in all seriousness, how's she been on missions?"

"Full disclosure?" Pequod asked. Ocelot nodded. "I wish everyone was like her."

"Come again?" Ocelot asked. Pequod shrugged, and scratched the stubble he'd clearly neglected to shave for a few weeks.

"Follows orders to a T, sir. Anything the Boss says, she does. And she's damn respectful of Baby." He tapped the inside of the cargo hold, expressing a little love for his bird. "Pretty curious about it, I think. Sometimes, when she thinks I'm not looking, she'll lean forward and try to look at all the bells and whistles I have up here in the cockpit. But then she sees the mirrors I keep up by my head so I can see behind me, and then tries to hide the fact that she was curious. But I always see it." Pequod chuckled. "It's kinda funny, actually. She's fascinated by Baby."

"How's her interactions with the Boss?" Ocelot asked. Pequod rubbed his chin in thought.

"At first? Pretty cold. Gave him a hell of a glare once; think she might've thought he was staring at her." He said. "But things have thawed. She seems receptive to him, though neither of them talk much. I gotta fill the silence every now and then."

"Has she ever made a move against him?" Miller asked. Pequod shook his head.

"Not once. She makes a point of keeping her sniper rifle racked up as far away from her as possible. Like she's trying doubly hard to prove that she's not a threat. I think she's alright, sir. Though I know you disagree." He looked pointedly at Master Miller. Ocelot intervened.

"That's all, Pequod. You just proved my point." He then looked confused. "You know, you came in about an hour ago with the Boss. Know where he is?" Pequod pointed to the Medical Platform.

"Out over there, I think. Don't know what he's doing, but I give the man his space."

"Most do." Ocelot remarked. "And Quiet?"

"I'd imagine back in her cell." Pequod said. "That reminds me, actually. I gotta drop this off to her." He reached into his pocket, and procured a tape cassette. "She burned through my last tape pretty damn quick. This keeps up and I'll have to start making requests for deliveries."

"Are you seriously giving that thing your music? Your own personal property?" Master Miller hissed, looking absolutely flabbergasted.

"Self-fulfilling prophecy…" Ocelot muttered to himself, though neither of the other two men seemed to have heard him. Pequod stood his ground.

"Why not? She treats them well, and always drops them off whenever she's done with them. Without a scratch on them."

"You are being _far_ too polite to that creature, son!"

"You're not my father, Master Miller." Pequod said, his eyes narrowing. He was a lot taller and bigger than Miller, and for a moment Ocelot debated whether or not to step in. "And it takes maybe a few seconds to spare some human decency."

"And what good is that decency when she slits the Boss' throat?"

"You've seen what she's capable of. If she wanted to ice the Boss, she'd have got him already. Maybe you need to stop chasing phantoms everywhere." At that line, Ocelot winced. Pequod always did love to run his mouth.

"Are you calling me unstable, soldier?" Master Miller hissed, staring up into Pequod's eyes. The young pilot glared, and leaned in so that their faces were only a few inches apart.

"I'm sure as hell not calling you for dinner."

"That's _enough."_

Ocelot wasn't sure how long he'd been listening, but he was relieved as Snake made his entrance. The mercenary had clearly taken a shower, judging by the way his hair wasn't completely dry, and the fact that the piece of shrapnel in his head looked somewhat shiny. The leader of the Diamond Dogs stared bullets at both Master Miller and Pequod.

"We've been over this before, Master. I'm getting tired of repeating myself: If Quiet proves a problem, I will be the one to kill her. So far she hasn't, therefore I haven't seen fit to do so." He said. He turned to Pequod. "I allow you a lot of leeway because of your abilities, Pequod, but never forget the chain of command. Don't be unbecoming." He shook his head. "Both of you are being childish." He cleared his throat. "Any updates, Kaz?" He asked. Master Miller blinked, and then nodded.

"A few. A lot more cals for wetwork in the past couple of days. Here, let me show you…"

The two of them walked off somewhere else on the platform, leaving behind a sulking pilot and a rather amused (and somewhat relieved) gunslinger. The latter turned towards Pequod and chuckled.

"You know, kid, one of these days you're going to shoot your mouth off one too many times. And you know me: I don't do bits and pieces." He chuckled. "I _break_ people to bits and pieces, but that's a different thing, I suppose." Pequod shuddered.

"The less I know about how you get people talking, the easier I sleep at night, sir." The young man said. He turned around to face the head of the Intel team. Ocelot gave a pleasantly innocent smile, which did not help Pequod's current feeling.

"Relax, kid. I promise you that you are the last person I'd want or feel the need to 'talk' to." But then he got serious. "Of course, if you need to talk, I'm around. I can do that, too. Diamond Dogs stick together, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Pequod said. He sighed, and rubbed his brow. "Man, I'm tired. Think I could take the rest of the day off, sir?" Ocelot chuckled.

"Don't see why not. I took a peek at the schedule that Miller's giving Snake: you don't have to supervise flight simulation for any new recruits until…Wednesday." Ocelot smirked. "Gotta do it at some point, though. Gotta whip enough people into shape so that it seems like there's only one of you flying Boss around."

"With all due respect, sir: there's only _one_ of me."

Ocelot's lip curled upwards into a grin, pleased to see that the young man's sulk had been replaced by his usual bravado.

"Oh, no doubt. That's why Boss keeps asking you to be his flyboy. But as it stands, the current set-up gives you 48 hours of down time. And I highly doubt that Boss will want you rolling out until then."

"Aren't we chasing Cipher, sir?"

"Son, I know a thing or two about Cipher and organizations like it. And I'll tell you: they move like glaciers. They tend to get their shit taken care of, but the larger an organization, the more bloated and methodical its pace is." He looked tired. "That, of course, just means we've got a lot of work to do. Cipher's pretty big."

"We'll get 'em, sir." Pequod said.

"That's the spirit." Ocelot said. He started walking away, but then turned back and waved Pequod to follow. "Let's hit the mess hall. I could use whatever it is that Moth cooked up today."

"If Jackal's reaction was any indication, sir, I think we're gonna need some seltzer."

"Pequod, I might love each and every one of you Dogs but I have to be completely honest with you: Jackal has a pushover for a stomach."

"Don't worry sir, I won't tell him your opinion that literally everyone else on the base shares."

"…Really? Shit, guess I'm not as good at intel as I thought."

"…Yes you are, sir."

"Yes, I am."

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"Preposterous. He didn't!"

"I'm telling you, he did."

"Who did what, now?"

Pequod sat down at the table in the middle of the mess hall, placing his tray on the table with a pronounced _klak_ sound. He looked at the first person who had spoken, and then at the second, and repeated his question.

"I was just telling Rabbit over here that the Boss took a missile to the face and shook it off." That was the second voice, belonging to Wounded Fox. He was a pretty young kid, almost a year younger than Pequod himself, with freckles and blue eyes and blazing red hair. He was built like a rugby player, with a few scars on his cheeks. He claimed to anyone who asked that they should "see the other guy…s," and usually that was the end of it.

"And _I_ was just telling Fox here that that is physically impossible." Everything that Fox was, Rabbit wasn't. Fox was tall and broad, Rabbit was short and thin. Fox was brash and blunt, Rabbit was easily flustered and a bit of a shut-in. Naturally, Fox was on the "combat" unit (though a platform for that group had yet to be constructed, rendering him little more than a "floating" member of staff) while Rabbit was R&D. He had somewhat pasty skin and coke bottle glasses. He looked like the class valedictorian, and Fox looked like the guy who cheated off of him in first period algebra to stay eligible for the football team.

Despite this, they were thick as thieves.

"You haven't said anything yet. Don't tell me you believe this chump over me!" Fox said, raising an eyebrow. Pequod returned the expression.

"Have you _seen_ the payload my Baby carries, much less the rest of the fleet?" He asked, listlessly stirring the spaghetti around his fork head. "Someone takes one of those missiles to the face, you could clean 'em up with a mop and bucket."

Rabbit didn't look so hungry anymore. Fox just laughed.

"That just proves how badass the Boss is!" He said. "He took one of your best shots to the face and all he got was that little piece o' shrapnel stickin' out of his head. Not bad, if you ask me."

"I _didn't_ ask you." Pequod said. "But yeah, that's pretty badass." He said. "Although, it wasn't one of _my_ best shots. It was Cipher. And that was nine years ago. Things change."

"Yeah, well you can't deny that the Boss is made of iron." Fox said. "How many scraps did you pull 'im out of?"

"We talking last week or the last month?"

"Whichever is bigger."

"Last week I set a new record." Pequod slurped up a few of the noodles, and then made a face. They weren't that good today. "I pulled Boss out three times in one day…what, three days ago? Yeah, three days ago. I've been off for a day, so that makes it three days ago."

"Christ!" Fox said. "Does he even sleep?"

"He has to." Rabbit said. "Commander Ocelot has a rule that no member of R&D can work for more than ten hours straight, and if we go over then there's a mandatory break we have to take before we dig into our next project."

"Do _you_ even sleep?" Fox asked.

"Little bit." Rabbit said. "Enough."

"How's that intel team plan coming, Rabbit?" Pequod asked. The smaller man adjusted his glasses.

"Until we get a platform built, it's more theoretical than anything else. But there's ten of us, including Commander Ocelot. We meet every morning and every night in the basement of the Command Platform, and then we go back to work in our regular jobs."

"So you're pulling double duty _and_ finding time to sleep?" Fox asked. He scoffed. "I call bullshit, Rabbit. Something's gotta give: I bet it's sleep."

"Maybe it's because I don't spend all of my waking time hitting on every woman in Mother Base." Rabbit muttered, except he said it a little too loud. Far from getting upset, Fox let out a cackle and wiggled his eyebrows. Pequod just rolled his eyes.

"A man's got to have a hobby, y'know." Fox said. He looked thoughtful. "Wonder if Angel is on duty today?"

"Angel" was his name for one of the medical staffers, a member of the surgical team code-named Grey Chameleon. As far as either Pequod or Rabbit could tell, she treated Fox's "advances" (if one could even call them that) with vaguely amused annoyance. For one, he hit on _everyone._ And to his credit, he always stopped when she looked like she wasn't interested. Or maybe it was because she'd start sharpening one of her scalpels. It was probably the scalpels.

"Ah, I'll find out soon enough. I got a reeeeal bad hang-nail today and-" Fox cut himself off. "Yo, Big Dog! Over here!"

"Big Dog" was Fox's personal nickname for Silent Bear. He was a massive man, originally from Algeria, who had volunteered for the Diamond Dogs after an uneventful stay in the French Foreign Legion. At least, the others were left to assume it was uneventful, considering the man didn't talk much about it.

"Good morning, brother." Bear said, sitting down.

He didn't talk much, period.

"Sleep well?" Fox asked, grinning. Bear looked at him, and was vaguely confused.

"Yes."

"Got plans today?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, it was worth a shot." Fox said, throwing up his hands in mock defeat. "At least I got a good morning out of you. That's worth something."

Bear snorted. He wasn't much bigger than the rest of them, but it was the way he carried himself that added a few inches and a few pounds of pure muscle. He loomed.

"Every morning is a good one, brother."

"How's that?" Pequod asked. Bear turned to face him, and Pequod thought he saw a smile.

"Because if you are awake for it, then it is a good morning."

"I'm guessing you didn't come here to serenade us, did you?" Fox asked. Bear shook his head.

"No, I did not. I came to sit with my friends, as well as tell you that there is CQC training for the combat staff at three today. You and I are partnered, I believe, Fox."

"Fuck!"

"Intel is excused."

" _Fuck!"_

"As is Pequod."

" _ **Fuck!**_ "

…

He tried not to move his shoulders too much, instead seeing fit to walk like a robot. He ignored the funny looks he got from a few of the base staff, and the sympathetic look he got from Commander Ocelot, who excused him from the rest of the drills, and hopped into the jeep with him. The Boss had come out to inspect how the men were developing their CQC, anyway, and Ocelot figured that the best way for them to learn was to see the master in action himself. So he took it upon himself to drive the battered soldier to the medical platform.

"Don't shift around too much. You'll just make it harder for Doc."

"I didn't take this codename for it to be liter _owwww_ -" Wounded Fox snarled as the jeep rumbled to life and rolled out of its parking space. Ocelot shot him an apologetic glance.

"Sorry. Forgot how clunky these things are."

"Don't we have airlifts?" Fox asked through gritted teeth.

"For a kid with a busted shoulder? Don't make me laugh, kiddo. Considering the budgeting we're gonna have to do for the next few months to afford construction on an Intel Platform and a Support Platform, you're lucky you're not just walking." They drove down the massive bridge between the Command Platform and the Medical Platform, seeing the heavy construction going on in the distance on the soon-to-be Combat Platform. "And look on the bright side, kid. Your unit's platform is getting built as we speak."

"Too…hurt…to comment." Fox grunted. Ocelot rolled his eyes.

"Don't be a drama queen. You just dislocated your shoulder. It's not like someone chopped your forearm off with a katana or pulled your heart out of your chest and then crushed it in his bare hands. _Then_ you can complain like this."

"Hahahaohowowow-dammit, don't make me laugh, sir. It hurts too much."

Ocelot smirked, but held his tongue.

They pulled up to the side of the main medical building, and Ocelot was kind enough to help Fox out of his seat in the car. As soon as he was done, the Intel officer leapt back into the jeep.

"I trust that you can make your way to the med center for your eval. Listen to every word that they say, and only when you're cleared do I want you returning to active duty. Understood?" There was a brief pause, and then Ocelot seemed to think of something. "No need to salute, soldier. Don't need to exacerbate it."

Wounded Fox looked grateful. Ocelot smiled some more.

"And look on the bright side, soldier. Now you've got some more time with that one doctor you keep hittin' on. Though she's had a pretty rough day today. Try not to get her mad."

"Whuh-how did you-" Wounded Fox managed to stammer. Ocelot pointed to his temple.

"Head of intelligence, remember?" He winked, and drove off with a chuckle.

Fox was in too much pain to crack any cheesy smiles at the nurses and medical staff as he made his way to one of the rooms. He was assigned this one at the door by one of the secretarial staff, and knew from the look on her face that she was delighting in his pain.

Great, that must mean that _she_ was having a _really_ bad day.

He sat on the table, kicking his legs out under him like a kid. Why was it that these doctor's tables were too tall for anyone? He wasn't sure, but it did the job of making him feel like an idiot.

The door opened, and she walked in.

"What's up, Angel?" He asked, managing to flash a pained smile. She flitted her eyes briefly at him, but went right back to typing on her pad with an expressionless face.

"Fox."

He winced, but not because of the pain.

"Really? Nothing for me? Not even a 'piss off?'"

"Not today."

"Oh, that's no fun."

She turned to face him. Grey Chameleon was supposedly from California, the kid of Japanese immigrants after World War II. The "supposedly" came from the fact that she almost never talked about it, insisting on telling people "I am a Diamond Dog." And that was that. She had high cheekbones, her hair wrapped in a tight bun (although today it looked more like a short ponytail), and a rather icy stare when she wasn't pleased with something. This was one of those times.

"Not everything is 'fun,' Fox. I don't enjoy patching people up nearly as much as they like getting themselves broken." She stared at her notes. "Speaking of which, what did you do _this_ time? If you say you broke your finger when in reality it's just a hang nail because you missed me, I swear I will-"

"Dislocated my shoulder." Fox said. She stared at him suspiciously, but then her eyes widened.

"Oh…oh, you aren't joking. Oh…" She sighed. "Figures. Let me guess: CQC?"

"Yep."

"You picked a fight with Bear, didn't you?"

"I thought this would be the time _I_ threw _him!_ "

Finally, a breakthrough. She gave a faint little smile on the corner of her lips.

"One of these days you'll do it, I'm sure, unless you die trying. And that might be a more likely outcome. There's a reason Bear is an explosive ordinance officer. He's implacable. And you…aren't." She shrugged. "Sorry."

"Stop mocking me by using your shoulders, Doc. That hurts my feelings."

Grey Chameleon responded by bobbing her shoulders with each step as she walked over to him. He snarled.

"Jerk."

"Really, that's the best you've got?" Chameleon said, taking the moment to gently examine the wounded joint. "I thought you'd call me a 'bitch' or something. Must be my lucky day." She narrowed her eyes at the sight of the damage, and nodded. "Yup. Typical anterior dislocation. Not too bad, so I'll leave it up to you: want to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

"Easy way?"

"I operate."

"…That's the easy way?"

"Well, you'll be anesthetized, silly."

"…And the hard way?"

"I ram the thing back into place. No need for anesthetic. It will hurt. Badly. Though theoretically you will be in the field quicker."

Fox considered his options. He sighed.

"Fuck it. Gimme the hard way."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay…"

She laid him down on the table, and got into proper position. She brought in one of her assistant nurses to take note, and an intern (where did they get these guys? Fox had to wonder) to observe. Grey Chameleon looked at Fox.

"Are you ready? I'll put it in place on your okay."

"Angel, the feeling of your hands on me _almost_ makes up for this pain. So do it. Now."

She obliged.

" _ **FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-**_ "

The nurse and intern covered their ears.

" _ **-UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!**_ "

There was silence. He was lying on the table, panting and sweating from the pain. He looked up at Grey Chameleon, who was looking at him with some degree of concern. He sighed.

"…Next time…I'll take the easy way."

That got him the first real smile she'd made all day.

…

Later that evening, Pequod was sitting on a folding chair, his feet kicked up on one of the crates he'd rolled out onto the helipad. He'd just finished washing the dirt out of Baby's armored chassis, and now was content to relax and watch the CQC drills going on in front of him. He heard the sounds of attacks being blocked, and attacks landing, as well as the sound of men and women getting thrown around and to the ground. In the middle of it all, he saw Ocelot pacing through the ranks, yelling orders and pointers while twirling one of his pistols.

He sensed movement to his right, and cleared his throat.

"Like the tape?"

There was a slight _whoosh_ sound, and Quiet materialized next to him, leaning against the side of Baby. Normally he'd object to someone touching her so soon after a good polishing, but Quiet wasn't dirty. She was holding a tape in her hand, her expression somewhat satisfied. Pequod made eye contact and chuckled.

"Yeah, I thought you might. Considering the crazy shit we have to deal with around here on a daily basis, I thought A-Ha might give you a smile."

Quiet raised an eyebrow.

"They're Norwegian, I think. Typical Euro-pop stuff. Not always my shindig, but there's something so goddamn catchy about that new single of theirs. You like it?"

She nodded, somewhat vigorously. Pequod chuckled.

"Me personally, I like old rock n' roll. Gimme the Stones any day of the week. Maaaaybe Genesis, though I don't really care about the whole 'Gabriel versus Collins' debate crap. They're both great, just different."

Quiet flitted her eyes off to the side absently, and shifted her weight on her feet.

"…And I'm boring you. Sorry 'bout that." Pequod said. "By the way, I got a little something for ya." He reached into his flight jacket's pocket, and procured a tape cassette. He tossed it to Quiet, who deftly caught it with her gloved hand. He always wondered why she kept that thing so wrapped up. She tossed the A-Ha track back to him at the same time he'd tossed her his tape. She stared at the title written in the lining, which was clearly scribbled in blue sharpie, and then looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. Pequod chuckled.

"Okay, I'm cheating. It's an album, but it's not just one band. I worked with a few of my buddies in R&D and ripped some goodies off of other albums and mashed them together. All sorts of songs from all sorts of bands. Consider it a 'Greatest Hits' mash-up."

Quiet looked somewhat skeptical, and held the tape so that he could read his handwriting on the lining. He laughed.

"Yes, yes. A little self-indulgent, but I'd say that I have good taste in music. That's why I called it 'Awesome Mix, Vol. 1'."

Quiet rolled her eyes, but there was the faintest trace of a ghost of a smile on the corner of her lips.

" _Of course_ there'll be a volume two! Just gotta find enough songs." Pequod said. He nodded. "Hope you enjoy it. Should last you a while." He suddenly had an epiphany. "And who knows, if you find a song you like, maybe we'll play it on the way home from a mission and get the Boss to crack a grin. Maybe he'll even like it!"

Quiet's expression changed. She clutched the tape close to her chest, and was that…embarrassment in her eyes? But it was gone as soon as it was there. Pequod just nodded.

"I've kept you long enough, I think. Just have fun with it and tell me what you think…uh, you know what I mean." He said. Quiet smiled slightly, and turned around to start walking away.

"Hey Quiet, wait up."

She turned around, and looked over her shoulder at him. Pequod cleared his throat.

"Um, I don't really know how to say this, but…I know you've had trouble here since coming to Base. And I know that Master Miller in particular gives you a hard time." He paused, looking for the right words. "But I just wanted to let you know that the Boss isn't the only one here that doesn't hate you. _I_ don't hate you. I think Boss is right; I don't think you're a freak. You're just trying to find your way around here, like the rest of us. So, uh, don't think you're alone here. You got the Boss, and you got me. And I think that, in time, you're gonna have the rest of us on your side too. Even that old fuddy-duddy Miller."

She didn't show her teeth, but the smile she gave him was the warmest he'd seen since she'd come to Mother Base.

"Pequod."

The sound of the Boss' voice caused the pilot to immediately leap out of his chair, shoving the crate away and turning off the cassette tape. He stood up straight, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Sir?"

"Sorry to interrupt your break, but I need to get into Afghanistan. Don't worry, it isn't priority one, but I have a couple of assignments I'd like to take care of out there. I'll increase your compensation for helping me get these side ops out of the way."

"Say no more, Boss." Pequod put on his flight jacket, as it was starting to get cold. "Baby's fueled and ready." He hopped into the cargo hold, and made his way to the cockpit. Within moments, he had fired up the engine and could hear the rotors starting to fire up.

"You coming?" He heard the Boss ask. There was another _whoosh_ sound, and Quiet was sitting in the cargo hold, directly behind and adjacent to Pequod. She looked at the Boss, and nodded. Her sniper rifle was still racked up from the last mission, and she made a point to lean away from it.

"Taking off, kiddos. Let's go to Afghanistan." Pequod said, turning on the microphone connected to his headphones and now broadcasting through the ACC. With ease, he lifted Baby off of the helipad and had her floating through the sky in moments. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. We are on route to Afghanistan, the world's leading producer of my two favorite things in the world: opiates, and kicking the shit out of the Soviets. But seeing as how the former is not allowed on Mother Base-"

"Nice try, Pequod." Boss said, surprising both Quiet and pilot with his comment. Usually he was pretty quiet on the ride to and from locations. Hell, he even looked like he was _smiling._ He was in a good mood about something. Maybe CQC had gone well earlier.

"-then we'll have to settle for option two: kick Soviet ass. We've got a few hours ahead of us, soo…anyone got any good knock-knock jokes?"

Quiet looked like she'd had an epiphany, and rather frantically pressed something into Pequod's lap. He looked down, and a big grin spread on his face. He reached down, and fed it into the audio jack.

"Seeing as how your pilot has a bit of a sore throat right now and isn't in the mood for telling stories, why don't we listen to some tunes on the ride in?"

"Tunes?" Snake asked. He noticed the eager look in Quiet's eye, and sighed defeatedly. "Alright, fine. What kind of tunes?"

Pequod grinned.

" _Awesome_ tunes, sir." He said with a wink.

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

It had been raining all morning. It was half past noon, and the sky was so dark and stormy that it was clear the weather wouldn't be getting better until well past nightfall. The Boss had ordered anything that could blow away get clamped down, and put a moratorium on construction of any of the platforms. Right now, Mother Base was simply hunkering down and waiting for the storm.

He stood against one of the massive computer drives on the side of the room, watching his companion checking the weather radar intently. The blue screen of the monitor created a sickly blue look on Master Miller's face.

"Any luck?" Ocelot asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

"It's not going to stop any time soon." Miller said, with both a frustrated and defeated tone. "We'll be lucky if we get overcast tomorrow. Hate to say it, but we're not getting anything accomplished today." He growled and rubbed his brow. "And that puts us a day behind Cipher."

"We can't fight Mother Nature with the same rage we're fighting Cipher, Miller." Ocelot offered. "Plenty of men before us have tried to defy her. Usually ends in humiliating defeat. Not that that stops people from trying. The Mongols had to learn their lesson twice, after all."

"What's your point?" Miller grumbled.

"Don't have one, really. Just saying that maybe if we just accept the fact that we can't get anything done today, then perhaps it's for the best that we just take the day to unwind. Had a pretty busy week, you know. If I know the Boss, he's probably taking a nap." He sighed, and put his longcoat back on. "I'm headed to the main barracks, just to check up on the boys and girls. They need their supervisor, after all."

"Bah. If _you're_ their supervisor I weep for their safety." Miller said, but there was no malice in his words. "You're just as bad as the rest of them."

"It helps to establish rapport with the Dogs every now and then." Ocelot winked. "You should give it a try, you know."

Miller just made a face, and hobbled over to his desk. He sat down with some difficulty, and pulled out one of the drawers. Within moments, he had pulled something out. Ocelot looked closer, and raised an eyebrow.

"Huh. Didn't think you read for pleasure, Miller."

"Can't spend _all_ of my time plotting revenge against Cipher, can I?" Miller asked, somewhat testily. Ocelot was about to respond, but the reply caught in his throat when he saw the title on the book.

 _Moby Dick._

"Er…yeah. Yeah, I mean, no, you can't." He made a motion like he was doffing a cap. "I'll be headed out now. You want coffee or something, I'll have one of the boys working community service hours bring it to you. Wish me luck that I don't drown."

Miller simply "Hmmph"ed, and was clearly already buried in his book. Ocelot rolled his eyes, and left the man to his reading.

…

By the time he'd made it to the barracks, he was drenched. He laid his longcoat on one of the coatracks by the door, and was relieved that the bandolier of shotgun shells he kept slung over his shoulder wasn't ruined. He had to keep up appearances, after all. He took a seat at one of the tables on the edge of the main lobby, and was content to simply stare and watch the Diamond Dogs interacting. It was a multi-leveled room, with tables and lounge chairs and a few small televisions. People were clustered together, and he was relieved that he didn't see anyone left by themselves. Well, other than himself, that is. But he was okay with that for right now. He always did like people-watching.

His eyes fell towards a table to the right, where a group of Dogs were sitting and playing cards. He noticed that there was an open chair, and a smirk started curling on his lips…

…

"Fold."

"Pussy." Wounded Fox scowled at the Dog across from him that had laid his cards facedown on the table. "I guaran _tee_ you had a good hand. You're just afraid of getting cleaned out."

"That's because you _are_ cleaning me out." The Dog was an Afghani, codenamed Fighting Osprey, and he stroked his beard as he watched the others. "I'm getting awfully sick of being everyone's chip bank, you know."

Osprey was one of the only men on base that spoke Pashto, and as a result was frequently brought into the makeshift intel center on the Command Platform for when Snake was out in the field, to serve as a translator for whenever the Boss needed to speak to locals and some of the Hamid fighters he liasoned with. Osprey was technically under the banner of R&D, but everyone and their brother knew that it was only a matter of time before he moved over to the "intel" team…whenever its platform was finished. He was a sharp man, and pleasant to everyone on the base. He was also shit at cards.

"He has a point, Fox." Rabbit said, adjusting his glasses. "You haven't been able to get any over on me, so you are just taking it out on Osprey over here. Not really fair, you know."

"Well not everyone knows how to fucking count cards, Rabbit."

"…This is poker, Fox. Not blackjack."

"Shut up, Osprey."

"Play nice, boys." Pequod was sitting at the table in the chair next to Fox, although he was not playing. Instead, he was content to leaf through a worn-looking book. He hadn't even looked up from the pages when he addressed them, so engrossed was he in the book.

"Whatcha readin', Pequod?" Fox asked.

" _Lord of the Flies._ " Pequod said. He still didn't look up.

"Is that anything like that other 'Lord of the' books?" Osprey asked. He looked frustrated. "Shit, it was right on the tip of my tongue. What was it Lord of?"

"The Rings." Rabbit finished for him. Osprey nodded.

"Yeah, that's it." He turned back to Pequod. "It anything like Lord of the Rings?"

Now Pequod looked up. He wasn't smiling.

"No."

"Geez, not even gonna extrapolate?" Fox asked.

"Didn't know you could use multi-syllabic words, Fox."

"Fuck off, Rabbit!"

"It's about Man's inherent cruelty to Man." They were all startled by the arrival of Ocelot, who took a seat in the empty chair at the table. "Bunch of British schoolchildren crash on a deserted island, and with no adults around they decide to form their own sort of society. Starts out pretty fun. But then it all goes to hell." Ocelot sighed. "And I might be underselling it a little bit."

"And this is a children's book?" Fox asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. It's mocking the shit out of them. And every book like them." Pequod said, setting the book down for a moment. From the look on his face, and the way his chest heaved, he'd clearly just gotten through an emotional part of the book. Whether it was good or bad was impossible to say. "You know how books for kids tend to be all sugary and stuff? Not at all based in reality?" He shrugged. "Guess there's something sort of profound in reading something that utterly disavows that. I mean, it's depressing as shit, but it's worth reading."

"Huh." Fox muttered. "I think I'll stick to Flash Gordon serials for now."

"Lend me one of yours when you're done." Pequod said, a smile slowly forming on his face and cracking the gloom. "I could use some light reading after this."

"Why not play a round with us, Commander Ocelot?" Osprey asked the gunslinger. "We can start a new game with you."

"You're just pushing for that because I'm cleaning you out, punk."

Osprey pretended not to hear Fox's grumbling. Ocelot chuckled.

"Alright, deal me in. And Pequod, you'd better get in on this too. No need to depress yourself any more than a rainy day like this already does to a man." Sighing dramatically at being interrupted from his book, the pilot agreed and accepted a couple of cards for his hand.

…

"So how did you meet the Boss, sir?"

They were a few rounds into the game, and everyone was relatively even. To everyone's surprise, Ocelot hadn't cleaned everyone out yet. If anything, he was losing somewhat badly. Perhaps that was why Fox was brave enough to ask the Intel commander that question.

Ocelot, to their relief, didn't seem offended by the intrusion. If anything, he seemed rather amused by the question. He chuckled, and raised an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't say I _met_ him. More like I ran into him a couple of times." He paused, silently delighting in the way that they were all seemingly leaning into the conversation, and hanging on his every word. He sighed, and racked his brain for memory's sake. "Gosh, it would have to be back around Operation Snake Eater. The Boss and I…well, I guess there's no other way to put it. We butted heads a few times."

"You _fought the Boss?_ " Fox did a terrible job of concealing his excitement. "How'd it go? Did you nearly kill him?"

"He kicked the shit out of me." Ocelot said. He chuckled at the awed expressions on their faces. "What? There's a reason that _he's_ the Boss, and I'm just a lieutenant. I might be your training officer for CQC and shooting and the like, but the Boss is in a league of his own. And you'd do well to remember that." He looked at his cards, and frowned. "Aw, shit. Fold."

" _Woohoo!_ " Fox let out a whoop. "Took the Commander to the cleaners! Oh, moneymoneymoneymoneymoneyyyy…" He dragged the chips towards his pile, and gave some over-the-top bows to everyone at the table. "Thank you, thank you. I'll be sure to spend your money wisely and with great care for the future." He got up from the table. "You know, I'm feeling awfully lucky tonight. Think I'm gonna stop by and see how Angel's doing."

"In the pouring rain?" Rabbit asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Pfft. As if. She's off duty right now, over there with her gal pals." Fox said, pointing to a table in the corner of the barracks lounge where a few of the women recruits and operatives were talking. "Adios, amigos!"

The rest of them watched him go for a moment, and then Osprey broke the silence.

"Five bucks says he gets slapped."

"You're on." Rabbit said. Ocelot chuckled.

"Just make sure to drag him to the med bay if he gets that shoulder messed up again." Ocelot said. He stood up from his chair. "I'd better go check in with the Boss. He's over at the R&D platform right now, and said he needed to talk to me about a few things. Can't spoil it yet, though, boys. You'll have to wait." He nodded a farewell to the others, and walked out the door.

…

He'd barely made it a step into the rain when he heard a voice behind him.

"You sandbagged."

He turned around, and saw Pequod standing there with his arms crossed across his chest. There was a lightly suspicious look on the young man's face. Ocelot shrugged.

'Don't know what you're talking about, kiddo."

"I peeked at your hand." Pequod said. "You were carrying a goddamn Royal Flush. Nobody could have beaten that. And you folded and let Fox win with a three-of-a-kind."

Ocelot sighed, and put his hands in his coat pocket. There was a cryptic look on his face when he spoke again.

"Alright, you caught me. I might not have pushed as hard as I could have with that last hand. But here's a question for you to think about, Pequod: what if I'd won?"

"What?" Pequod seemed legitimately stumped.

"What. If. I'd. Won?" Ocelot asked again. "Remember, those men are volunteers. Just like you, though not for as nearly the personal reasons that you're on base. Volunteers. They're already giving everything they have and even more if the call asks for it. They're vulnerable, in a sense. And I am their commanding officer. And I would never put myself in a position where I could take away from _any_ of my men." He pointed a finger to the pilot. "And I hope you learn that lesson for yourself, too."

"Why? I'm just a pilot." Pequod said. "I don't command anyone."

"Not now, you don't." Ocelot said. "But Boss and Miller have been talking. They want to get a fleet of helicopters off of the ground, and right now they're recruiting from the ranks. And soon, we're gonna have more than a couple of wannabes hoping to carry the Boss from hot zones. But they can't do that without training." Ocelot smiled warmly. "And who better to help them out and train them than the one and only Pequod?"

Pequod sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"Alright, fine. I'll do it."

"Good." Ocelot said, nodding in approval. "Don't worry, it won't take up too much more of your time. Wouldn't want to get between you and your music. And books. And...everything else, I guess." Ocelot looked like he knew something but was choosing to say nothing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I want to get back inside before I'm sopping wet to the bone." He waved pleasantly. "Take it easy, Pequod."

And he was gone in the rain.

Pequod stood there in the doorway, watching the rain falling in an endless monsoon, and contented himself to stare out into the distance. He hadn't had many times to talk with the man called Revolver Ocelot, though each and every time had been cordial and pleasant. So much so, that it was starting to worry the younger man. As he reached into his pocket, producing a lighter and a small rolled cigarette, he found himself remembering a bit of scuttlebutt that had gone around in the first days of the Diamond Dogs: that Revolver Ocelot was kind and fatherly to the men and women underneath him, but was utterly ruthless to those that defied him or even those that were against him.

As Pequod took his first drag, he wondered when he would see that other side of the man called Revolver Ocelot.

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.

…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

It had been five days since his conversation in the rain with Revolver Ocelot. During that time, the Boss and the silent sniper Quiet had been roving through the Afghan deserts, collecting on side op missions ranging from wetwork (assassinating a colonel – Snake chose to extract him instead) to rescue (Snake had saved a brother and sister, both of whom worked for a medical NGO, that were captured by the Soviets for "trespassing") to the bizarre (why did Master Miller want those goats and that wild ass extracted back to Mother Base? Even Quiet had seemed confused). Pequod had stayed in the general area, keeping Baby covered up and hidden in the mountains until he needed to come in for exfils or even a gun run. But it _had_ been five days in Afghanistan, and at one point a 48-straight hour run where he was flying Baby or keeping her from falling apart as the Boss and Quiet ran around completing some smaller operations at a breakneck pace. She was also out of rockets and down to her last clip of the .50 caliber miniguns sitting under her nose. Pequod didn't want to know what the Boss had done to warrant needing to figuratively burn that Afghan village to the ground, but he figured that _something_ had gone wrong.

He was relieved when the Boss gave the order for a full extraction: they were all hot, exhausted, dirty, and needed showers and hot meals back at Mother Base. He was sick of having to "cook" cans of what were allegedly ravioli by letting them sit out in the midday heat: he figured he was probably going to get dysentery from that shit, but meals were meals. Still didn't hold a candle to pierogis, though.

He couldn't resist letting out a yawn as they entered Indian Ocean airspace. It was still a good hour or two before he'd have to check in with Mother Base air control; he wondered if it was Eel or Crocodile working air traffic controller today: the former was delightfully snide about his job, the latter so impossibly grumpy about his place in life that it simply had to be a cruel joke that his codename was " _Grinning_ Crocodile."

He took a peek behind him to the ACC. The Boss was applying something to the ceiling of the helicopter. Beside him, Quiet was lying down on her bench. She was half asleep from the look in her eyes, but she was also clearly watching what Snake was doing with curiosity.

"Ok, I gotta ask, Boss." Pequod said, breaking the silence. "What are you doing and is it going to defile Baby?"

"Relax, Pequod. I would never damage your girl." Snake said. There were a couple streaks of dried blood running down his forehead; the Boss had been cracked in the head by a glancing blow from a rifle butt. If it wasn't for Quiet's impeccable timing and accuracy, he wouldn't be around. His uniform was also dusty and dirty and ripped up in places, and looked like it needed a week in the wash. Even Quiet was spackled with mud and dirt. Pequod hadn't gotten into the field unless one counted "sweeping off underbrush and tarps that covered the helicopter", but he was sweaty and smelly himself. They were all a rotten-looking bunch. So it was nice that humor still prevailed. Pequod gave a thumbs up.

"Good. Because if you were to, at least buy her dinner first."

"Dinner, huh?" Snake asked, momentarily stopping what it was that he was doing to look over at his pilot. There looked like a trace of a smirk growing on his lips. "What exactly would her fancy be?"

"Baby? Oh, let me see…" Pequod said, tapping his chin in mock thought. "I'd say a full tank of fuel, plus a little wash-down on the side…maybe some nice Chianti and romantic tunes in the background."

"Let me guess: A-Ha?"

"No sir, that was last week. This week it's Billy Idol. C'mon, Boss, get with the times."

"Get with the times, huh?" Snake asked. "Sounds like you're calling me old, Pequod."

"…Am I wrong?"

"…Smartass." Snake said, but he was still smiling a little bit. Even Quiet seemed to smile at that one. With that, the Boss went back to what he was doing before.

"Still didn't answer my question." Pequod said, making sure to wait just long enough in order to convince his superior that he'd forgotten. Judging by the slightly annoyed grunt in the back, he'd waited the perfect amount of time.

"Hanging up photographs." Snake finally said. "Though I'm seriously debating cutting yours out of the picture if you keep this up."

"What for? Asking questions?"

"Being nosy." Snake clarified. "For all you know, I could be hanging up pornography back here."

"I doubt that, Boss."

"Yeah? Why is that?" Snake asked. Pequod took a moment to turn around and look back at him, grinning like a jack o' lantern.

"I don't think she'd let you get away with that shit, sir."

He jerked a thumb towards Quiet, who simply shook her head while staring at the Boss like she was trying to set him on fire with a glare. Snake gulped, and sat back in his seat. Perhaps it was best not to make jokes about that anymore. Quiet seemed satisfied with herself, and sat back upright with her arms across her chest and one leg crossed over the other. She closed her eyes and seemed to fall asleep. Sighing heavily, he decided to follow her lead and catch a wink himself.

…

He was jolted awake by Pequod's voice.

"Rise and shine, ladies! We're in Mother Base airspace. Thank you for choosing Pequod air. Touching down now."

He gently and deftly maneuvered the helicopter so that it was safely and securely stationed on the helipad, and then opened the doors to the ACC. Quiet hopped out of the helicopter, followed by Snake. Pequod was the last to leave, having turned off all of the machinery inside the bird and signaling to the control tower that this helipad was off-limits for landing (as there was cleaning to be done). Ocelot was out there to greet them.

He looked the three of them over, his face expressionless. Finally, his lip curled in disgust and he found his voice.

"Boss…you all _stink_!"

As if on cue, the other soldiers that were standing guard on the helipad released the coughs and wheezes that they'd been holding in, one of them even doubling over. Snake shook his head in disbelief, but Ocelot opened his mouth first.

"I'm putting a moratorium on you doing anything, and I mean _anything,_ until you're cleaned up. Jesus, Boss, we might be all soldiers but this _is_ a public area. Gotta socialize every now and then." He jerked his thumb over to the medical platform. "Get over there and clean up. And then give them that uniform, so that they can clean it…or burn it. Whichever is easier." Quiet simply disappeared. "She knows what's up. As for _you-"_ Ocelot pointed towards Pequod. "You need a break. Nothing for the next two days. And for God's sake, take a damned shower."

"Don't need to tell me twice, sir." Pequod said, practically running Snake over as he ran for the barracks shower.

…

Later that evening, Pequod was sitting out on the helipad with Baby, lazily resting on a terrible folding chair with his feet kicked up on the ACC floor: it was the best he could do for an ottoman, but his helo, his rules.

He chuckled when he heard a rustling noise.

"Back for more, are we?"

Quiet materialized next to him, sitting on the edge of the ACC floor with her feet dangling over the edge. She was holding a tape. Pequod grinned.

"Whaddaya think?"

She made a face.

"E _gad_ , lady! Are you telling me that you don't like the _Stones?_ "

Quiet made a motion like she was trying to stifle a yawn.

"Quiet, you are lucky that you don't talk: because if you'd have verbalized that golden calf bullshit in front of me I'd have thrown something at you."

Quiet raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I don't _care_ if you'd have just disappeared before I hit you – which is totally cheating, by the way – it's the principle that counts!"

A full-blown look of skepticism greeted him.

"Goddammit I am _not_ taking this too seriously! You're not taking this seriously enough! The Rolling Stones are not boring!"

She rolled her eyes, and started to hum to herself. Sometimes when she did that, Pequod wondered what her voice sounded like. It was probably pretty and could carry a tune, if her hums were any indication.

"Okay, fine. At least tell me that you liked Awesome Mix, Vol. 1."

The look of glee on her face told him everything he needed to know.

"Thought so." He said. "Tell me what your favorite one is the next time we're out with the Boss. Maybe he'll crack a smile."

No doubt about it; there was a definite blush threatening to form on her cheeks. Pequod chuckled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something. Quiet looked shocked, and put a hand to her mouth as if she was witnessing him committing a crime. Or, rather, hideously overreacting for the sake of mocking him. Pequod looked at her and frowned.

"You're not gonna tell anyone, are you? I don't get much time to imbibe often these days."

Quiet sighed, and rolled her eyes with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Good. I'll let you take a hit if you want."

Quiet made a face and shook her head furiously.

"Alright, don't say I didn't ask you."

He struck a match off the bottom of his boot, and took care to make sure the snuff in his pipe was lit properly. Within moments, the acrid yet sweet smoke of whatever it was that he'd tossed in there was clouding around his head. He blew a couple of smoke rings, and then looked at Quiet.

"Think you could put a bullet between those?" He asked, a crooked grin on his face.

Quiet looked at him and raised an eyebrow. And then she looked at the smoke rings, three of them still somewhat formed. Then she raised her gloved hand and pointed her index and middle fingers out towards the rings. She made a snapping noise with her other hand, and recoiled like she'd fired a pistol. Laughing, Pequod took a breath and blew the smoke away.

"Attaway, Quiet!" He said, giggling a little bit. Quiet smiled slightly, and then went back to humming a little bit. Pequod took a look towards the main barracks, and raised an eyebrow. "Wonder if things are quiet in there?"

…

"This might be the dumbest idea you've ever come up with, Fox."

"I must agree with Brother Rabbit, brother. This plan will only end in failure."

"Rabbit…Bear…Both of you just shut up." Fox growled, gritting his teeth. "I'm totally ready for the consequences. Come on!"

Rabbit just facepalmed, and Osprey cleared his throat so that all could hear.

"Alright, everyone knows the rules! Winner slams the other's arm to the table, loser has to give the winner his candy rations for two weeks. No touching of the head or face, and no grabbing your hand with your free hand; that's _cheating!_ " He cleared his throat. "Get ready, set, _**ARM WRESTLE!**_ "

The crowd of Dogs around Fox and Bear started whooping and hollering. Fox's face was a grimace of pain and concentration, and veins were starting to pop in his neck and even one in his forehead.

Bear, on the other hand, had no expression on his face whatsoever.

"What…are…you… _doing?_ " Fox managed to hiss through his teeth. Bear finally grinned, exposing his teeth like a shark.

"I just wanted you to feel that you were doing well, brother!"

He slammed Fox's arm on the table so hard the room shook.

…

Sitting at a table somewhere else in the barracks, they were interrupted from their game of cards when a noise echoed through the hallways.

"Did anyone hear that?" Howling Badger, one of the senior combat soldiers and the first woman the Boss had admitted to the Diamond Dogs, asked. She hadn't even looked up from her hand, an utterly bored and somewhat non-plussed look on her face. She brushed a greying lock of hair out of her face, and continued to stare at the game in front of them.

"Yep. Sounded like the boys." Hissing Coyote muttered. She was from Ghani, originally, and was a trained member of the R&D team. Three cups of coffee, two of them empty already, were at her side. "Who do you think it was?"

"Just give it a minute." Growling Wolf, a former Soviet woman who'd went AWOL from the GRU by faking her own death 'because she was bored,' according to Ocelot, who'd discreetly facilitated her escape. She had platinum blonde hair and a stare that could melt icebergs. It was probably for the best that she was kept deep in the bowels of the R&D unit, away from mere mortals that she could kill with a look.

They all waited. Presently, they heard running footsteps and a huffing and puffing noise. Soon, a rather baby-faced looking soldier rounded the corner and rested his hand against the wall to face them.

"What is it, Otter dear?" Badger asked sweetly. The young man was clearly exhausted, but managed to compose himself in front of the women.

"Main…lounge…arm wrestling…fight broke out."

"Are you saying an arm-wrestling fight broke out?" Badger asked, trying not to smile.

"Would pay to see that." Wolf said.

"Nonono…first arm-wrestling… _then_ a fight."

"Are they connected?" Badger asked. She asked it in a manner that suggested she already knew the answer to the question.

"Yes…loser challenged winner to fistfight…winner has him in a headlock and gave him a blackeye. Well, rather, the loser gave himself a black eye trying to get loose of Bear's headlock."

"Who on earth could piss off Bear so much that it requires him putting you in a headlock?" Badger asked. "He's a complete sweetheart. Who is stupid enough-"

"Fox." Everyone else at the table said. Except for a single person, who seemed like she was desperately trying not to be noticed. Except the soldier saw her, and made puppy-dog eyes.

"Miss Chameleon…ma'am…can you help patch Fox up? He kept muttering something about an 'angel' that'd save him, but most of us thought he was just delirious from smacking his head against one of the doors. Don't know why Bear let it get out of hand like that. I think he just wanted Fox to feel like he had a chance of escaping his… _bear_ hug."

Grey Chameleon let out a massively exasperated sigh, and set down her hand.

"Fine. Just…play my hand for me until I get back, will you soldier?" She asked, getting up from her chair with a huff.

As she walked down the hallway, she tried not to think about the fact that she was sitting on a Royal Flush when she'd had to fold.

Unless he was dying already, she was going to _kill_ that Fox.

 **A/N:** Just another day in the Seychelles.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"So where are you from, Rabbit?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked where you are from." Fox said, grinning a little bit as he nudged his friend in the shoulder. It was dinnertime at Mother Base, and in between waiting for the below-average spaghetti (that everyone but today's cook compared negatively to egg noodles and ketchup), those that were in the mess hall were passing the time by doing what they did best: interacting. Talking. Telling stories.

"America."

"No shit, I know that's where you're from. What I want to know is where you're _from._ " Fox said. When Rabbit continued to look at him with a combination of confusion and slight annoyance, Fox rolled his eyes. "I mean your heritage. What's your heritage?"

"Does it really matter?" Rabbit asked. "The Boss made us all sign the same pledge, you know. We have no nation other than Mother Base, and no people other than the Diamond Dogs. I'm from America, yeah, but I'm from Mother Base. That's all that matters to me."

"Bulllllllshit." Fox said.

"Why? Why is that bullshit?" Rabbit asked, now absolutely annoyed. "I've bought into the Boss' message and beliefs, and I don't see why you're criticizing me for it."

"He's not criticizing you for it, he's just pointing out a reality." Osprey said. "Sure, we're all Dogs together, but that doesn't mean that we can just forget where we've come from overnight. I certainly haven't. Especially considering where the Boss continually works." He sighed. "I may be a Diamond Dog, but I will forever be one of the Pashtun." He cleared his throat, rubbing his chin as he did it. "I see no reason why I should have to abandon every last bit of my old identity. If anything, I can bring it to Mother Base and showcase the best of it."

"See?" Fox said, positively beaming. "I _told_ you that you were being a stick-in-the-mud, Rabbit. And it's not like I'm gonna judge you for it, bub."

"Who's judging who, now?"

The men looked up at the voice. Howling Badger was standing over Osprey's back, and along with her were a few more of her friends. She was staring at them all with cryptic eyes and smile. "Mind if we join you boys? The mess is getting rather packed."

"Go for it." Fox said.

The ladies all took a seat, completing the table.

"Now, I feel like we missed out on a very interesting conversation." Badger said. "What were you all talking about?"

" _We_ weren't talking about anything. Fox here wouldn't _shut up_ about it. He wants to know where I'm from."

"America, right?" Badger asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, not _that."_ Rabbit said. "He wants to know my heritage."

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Badger asked. She brushed one of her greying locks back behind her ear.

"But the _Boss-_ "

"Rabbit, let me let you in on a little secret." Badger said, a motherly tone of tough love in her voice. "The Boss has us as a nation, _not_ as a bunch of mindless drones. We're here of our own free will."

"Explain that to the schmucks that he pulled out of Afghanistan last week." Hissing Coyote said. She was on her second cup of coffee that evening, with a third waiting in the wings. "Don't think there's anything 'free will' about being Fulton'd out of a place."

"Well, maybe so." Badger conceded, a mischievous smile on her face. "But Commander Ocelot is pretty convincing, isn't he? All he had to do was point out the fact that we get paid more than empty promises, and they all get in a fight to be the first to kiss the Boss' shoes."

"How do you know that that's what they really think?" Rabbit asked. "Maybe they've been brainwashed."

"If that's what you think, then it's probably because you work with too many computers and not enough people." Badger said. "People aren't designed to be 'things,' they deserve dignity. Perhaps there's nothing dignified about a Fulton, but the aftermath sure is." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, how about I make you a deal, Rabbit. We all go around the table and say where we're from, and what our heritage is. That way you aren't embarrassed."

"But I'm not-"

"Great! I'll start." Badger said. "I'm from Australia, if the accent wasn't a dead giveaway. Brisbane, really. My family's been there for about as long as I can remember. And I came to the Boss after I heard about him and my RAAF commission was up."

"RAF?" Fox asked. "Isn't that British?"

"We're part of the Queen's territory, sweetie." Badger said. "Well, not really. But I wouldn't be surprised if those dunces in parliament finally get around to severing the last link between us and England. I'd better my money on it happening in the next few years." She winked. "Also, you're thinking of the Royal _Air_ Force. I'm from the Royal _Australian_ Air Force. Similar sound, but not the same thing."

She looked over at Hissing Coyote, who nodded.

"I'm from Ghana, originally. But I got some schooling in Britain, which explains _my_ accent. My family is mostly of the Akan, though I am sure that there are a few other tribes that my ancestry dips into." She shrugged. "Some of my family back home worry about the state of things, but I have never really cared about politics that much. I know that, in the end, the communists and the capitalists are all squabbling and they sound like baby ducks. Quack, quack, quack." The rest of the table chuckled.

"What are you then?" Fox asked. "Communist?"

"Try apathy-ist." Coyote said. "I do not care either way."

"Fair enough." Fox muttered. "What about you, Angel?"

Grey Chameleon just rolled her eyes, and ignored Badger's smirk.

"My mother is from Kyoto, and my father is from Grand Rapids."

"Where the fuck is Grand Rapids?" Osprey asked.

"Western Michigan."

"Western Michigan?" Fox asked, raising an eyebrow. "There can't be a lot of Japanese Americans out there."

"Not nearly as much as in the Metro-Detroit area." Chameleon said. "Look, can we stop talking about me?"

"See, at least one person gets it-"

"Quiet, Rabbit." Badger shushed him. "How about you, Fox?"

"Philly." He said, grinning wide enough to show off all of his teeth. "Typical Italian bunch from South Philly, that's where I'm from. City of Brotherly Love, right?"

"More like Brotherly _Shove_."

"Fuck off, Rabbit."

"What about you, Pequod?" Badger asked. Everyone turned to the pilot, who was clearly trying his best to enjoy the "noodles" that were on the menu that night. "Where are you from?"

"States."

"Oh, don't be like that." Badger said. "Everyone else here gave us a little bit more than that. Clearly you weren't born in the sky, destined to nurture and pilot Baby through the clouds and get the Boss in and out of danger, hmm?"

"I might've been." Pequod said, still not looking up at her. Badger looked determined.

"You know we're not going to let your jokes get away with everything, sweetheart. Would you do it for old Badger dear and tell us some more?"

"Fine." Pequod said. He set down his fork and looked at everyone at the table. "I have a riddle for you. You are stranded on a deserted island, with two other people: Hitler and Stalin. You find a genie's lamp, and he promises to take you off the island and home, but on one condition: you must empty the gun he gives you. There are only two bullets, and both men must die. Who do you shoot first and why?"

The table was silent. Badger shook her head.

"What about you, Pequod?"

"I shoot Hitler twice." Pequod said. "Because every Pole with half a brain knows that you always take care of business before pleasure."

After a round of more stupefied laughter than anything, Fox spoke.

"You're Polish, Pequod?"

"Hundred percent." Pequod said. "My dad fled the country with his family after the Germans surrendered, and the Soviets got out their dividing tape for my homeland. He met mom in Chicago, and ever since I was little I've lived in and out of _Chicago Polonia_ until I started flying helos and caught the eye of Revolver Ocelot. He hired me, and I've been here ever since."

"I never would have guessed." Fox said.

"Really?" Pequod asked, his eyebrow raised almost to the top of his forehead. "Did this not tip it off?" He rolled back the sleeve of his t-shirt to expose his left bicep, where there was a massively ornate tattoo of an eagle. "This is the Polish coat of arms, dumbass. You've seen me wearing sleeveless shirts while washing Baby _countless_ times. How have you never noticed this?"

Fox just shrugged.

"I always assumed that it was the American eagle."

Pequod facepalmed so hard they thought he was going to knock himself out.

"Do you have thoughts on the Pope visiting Poland a few years ago?" Coyote asked. "I'm not much for religion myself, but I have to imagine it is a big deal back home."

"It's bigger than you think." Pequod said. He rolled back his other sleeve to expose his right bicep: an incredibly ornate tattoo of a cross and intricate designs splashing out from it. "Even if you aren't, these days if you are Polish you are Catholic. Solidarity, my friends. It will bring down those _dupeks_ from 'Mother Russia.' You watch."

"You sure about that, Pequod?" Rabbit asked. "This is a world superpower, you know. I think you're fighting a losing battle."

" _Jeszcze Polska nie zginela_." Pequod retorted. "Poland is not yet lost. Those Soviet fuckers made the same mistake that Hitler's Huns made before them, and then the Tsar and the Habsburgs and the Prussians before that: you can swallow Poland, but you can never digest it." He motioned over to Osprey. "A shame they never learned this lesson the first time, because now Osprey's country is kicking the shit out of them. And any chance I have to rub their noses in it while I'm working with Boss, I'll take it."

"Wow, Pequod. I never would have pegged you to care about-"

"I know, I know. I don't care about much, Rabbit." Pequod said, drawing a chuckle from the others. "But I'm Polish. And every Pole worth his or her salt knows their history. It's all we've got half the time, because the other half of the time we have no country." He shrugged. "Which is what makes Mother Base nice. I know _I_ will always have a home here, and from here I'll fight so that my people have their home again too." He looked positively giddy. "It's gonna happen. Those assholes don't know it, but they're dying: the Soviet Union won't make it to the turn of the millennium, just you watch. And it's going to be kickstarted by the country that's been bullied by Germany and Russia since the dawn of time."

…

Later that night, as the sun was setting, she decided that it would be best to take a walk along walkway between the Command Platform and the medical platform. She didn't know what it was, but being out late at night and hearing the Seychelles beneath her lapping at the pylons and posts holding up the nation at sea was intensely calming to her aging bones. She sighed, and leaned against the railing, sailing out into the vast abyss in front of her.

"Badger."

She turned around, and slowly pulled herself into a salute.

"Evening, Boss."

"At ease, Badger." Snake had clearly been walking back from the Medical Platform himself, and was not about to enforce decorum between the two of them. "You barely have to salute me, you know. You're more experienced than I am."

"Maybe in sheer number of years of service, sir." Badger said. "But certainly not in terms of ability or in the events that happened in my years. I've had a rather uneventful career, to be honest."

"Can't really say the same, huh." Snake admitted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phantom cigar lighter. Badger wrinkled her nose.

"I don't see why you don't just smoke the real thing, sir. I have some good ones back in my bunk."

"Wouldn't want you to blow your share on me." He said. "And I can be awfully picky."

"They're just cigars, sir."

"I suppose so." Snake said. He turned to look at her. "So we're still a go for tomorrow?"

"Of course, sir. I've been giddy just waiting for it."

"Good." Snake said, taking his first puff. "I think it'll be a nice change of pace for the men and women to work with you in charge of drills tomorrow." Badger raised an eyebrow.

"Sir, I've trained extensively in CQC and ran Iron Man competitions in my off time until I volunteered for your army. I don't think 'change of pace' is the right way to describe what I'm going to do to them tomorrow. It certainly won't be easy on them."

"Who said anything about easy?" Snake asked. He looked at her, with the gall to appear innocent. "I just said a change of pace."

Their laughter carried down the pathway towards the edge of the Command Platform, where a certain gunslinging intel offier was out having a nightly smoke of his own. He heard the noise, and struggled not to smile.

"Oh…I'm gonna need a camera for tomorrow…"

 **A/N:** Just another day in the Seychelles.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

 **THWACK.**

"Get up!"

 **THUD.**

"Have to be faster than that, boys!"

 **SMACK.**

 **"** Good _Lord,_ my nanna has better lateral speed than you!"

Howling Badger made her rounds through the lines of Diamond Dog soldiers, barking orders and critiques whenever she saw fit. Today was CQC training day, and all of the new recruits were being put through what the Aussie woman cheerfully called 'The Rocks': if one could survive getting dashed against them on their first day of training, then maybe they were fit to be in the Combat Unit after all.

 **BAM.**

"Christ, sonny, you're flatter than week-old soda. GET UP!"

Today was not promising.

Standing up on one of the platforms above the training area, they watched her leading the drills. The construction of the secondary Command Platform was complete, although they had not moved much of the materials onto the platform yet, leaving a wide-open space for the recruits to be practicing. Miller watched one of the new recruits get flipped over by a more experienced Dog, and shook his head.

"These have to be the sorriest recruits I have ever seen, Boss." He turned to Snake. "I don't know why you aren't down there instructing them yourself."

"I can't be everywhere at once, Master." Snake said quietly. Ocelot was sitting down, his legs dangling over the ledge of the platform. He heard his boss' words, and chuckled.

"Tell the Soviets in Afghanistan that, Boss. They think you're a horned demon who teleports in the night."

Snake shook his head, unamused.

"Badger is a good soldier, and I trust her to train the Dogs." He said, turning to Miller. "Have patience, Master Miller."

"I would have more patience if I saw her in action." Miller said, shaking his head. "After all, I recall that you didn't recruit her so much as save her from a hovel where she was tied up by some Spetsnaz. Hardly what I would expect from someone who is as deadly as you claim she is to be."

"Looks aren't everything, Miller." Ocelot chided, taking the time to start cleaning the inside of one of his pistols. Miller snorted.

"Perhaps not, but that is some pretty damning evidence."

"I wouldn't call it a rescue." Snake said, breaking his silence. He gestured to the platform below them, as Badger had clearly reached her breaking point with some of the recruits.

"That was bloody _AWFUL!_ " Badger roared, breaking up a pair of Dogs. "You couldn't throw a baseball, much less a man over your shoulder, you damned Yankee!" She snapped at one of the recruits, a baby-faced man who was clearly not accustomed to a woman barking at him like this.

"Ma'am, this is hard!" He said, breaking his silence. "I don't see you doing any of it yourself!"

There was a silence across the platform.

"Dead man." Ocelot muttered.

Badger's eyes narrowed to slits. She smiled.

"What did you say, sonny?" She asked.

"I said-"

He never got to finish his sentence, and Badger swung her leg forward and then back, hooking him by the calf and sending him crashing to the ground on his back. Badger had clung to his wrist, however, and while he was lying on the ground she kept her left hand grabbing his wrist while she knelt down and cupped the back of his head with her other arm. Quite roughly, she forced him back up into a standing position, while still maintaining a vicegrip on his wrist. Then, she stepped in front of him, grabbed him by the hip, and threw him over her hip like a sack of potatoes. He'd barely hit the ground before she'd scuttled around and trapped him in a rear naked chokehold, a rather ugly-looking knife pointed towards his neck.

"While you were sayin', I just carved your voice box out." Badger said. She released him from her grip, and then let him get up to his feet. She laid down on the ground flat on her back, and then kipped up without breaking a sweat. She brushed off her arm, ignoring the stunned look on the faces of the other recruits, and stared at the recruit she'd just humbled.

"Otter! Rat!" She barked.

Two of the Security Team personnel, essentially the Mother Base equivalent of the police, stepped forward.

"Ma'am?" Rat asked. He was, unlike his name, a monster of a human being. Badger gestured to the recruit.

"Take him to the brig for two hours for insubordination. I'll stop by later and work out a proper punishment for him later." She looked at the ashamed Dog, and gave him a genuine smile. "Don't feel bad, honey. I've been beating the shit out of men downtalkin' me since you were still in diapers."

Nodding glumly, the Dog was led away by Rat and Otter, who were clearly teasing him about picking a fight with Howling Badger.

Snake turned to look at Master Miller, and tried not to smile at the utterly thunderstruck look on the man's face. He cleared his throat to get Miller's attention.

"Like I was saying, I didn't really 'rescue' Badger. Pequod picked up an open-channel SOS call while we were flying back to Mother Base, and we stopped by some old ruins where she was in the middle of a gun battle with Spetsnaz. She was covered in blood – not much of her own, by the way – , but we found her surrounded by dead Soviets and the only reason I even had to fire the minigun on the remaining squad was because she was out of ammo." He looked contemplative. "Though I bet she might've tried to beat them to death with the butt of her rifle if I hadn't stepped in." He turned around and started to walk away, but not before turning around to face Master Miller.

"I know how to pick men and women in the field, Master."

…

"So you're saying that you shot between the blades of Baby's rotors… _while they were spinning._ "

A nod.

"And the Boss told you to do this?"

Silence.

"Ok, not the Boss. Ocelot?"

A nod.

"…Of course it fucking was…and the Boss signed off on this?"

A nod.

"Quiet, I know you're on our side – I think – but the next time you're given an order that may or may not put Baby in danger…don't listen. Actually, check that: don't listen, and then shoot the person that gave you that order right in the face. Preferably with that really, really big sniper rifle you keep locked up in Baby's storage racks."

A quizzical stare.

"I don't _care_ if it was a chance to prove your loyalty or skills, Baby scares easily! Do you have any idea how fussy she gets when something is a little bit off kilter with her rotor blades?"

A raised eyebrow.

"I am _not_ taking this too seriously! Just…just let's move on, okay? Put in the next tape and tell me what you think. What'd you think of that last one? I personally think it was shit, but that might just be because I'm a dude. Probably isn't going to amount to anything, what do you think?"

A dismissive frown, and a shake of the head. A stuck-out tongue for good measure.

"Yeah, I thought so. Just gonna be another flash in the pan artist, I think. Besides, _Like a Virgin_ is a shit album name."

…

"-And then she just pulled a knife on him, all fucking casual like. It was the baddest thing I've ever seen!"

Rabbit adjusted his glasses, pushing them up against the bridge of his nose a little bit tighter, and nodded.

"Sounds like it."

"Rabbit." Fox said, looking thoroughly off-put. "You could not be less interested in what I'm telling you."

"With brains like that you'd fit in with the Intel team just fine." Rabbit said, risking the playful shove to the shoulder from his friend. (Which came, as expected) "And you're right. I'm not a combat agent. I stay on Mother Base and break down the paperwork so that the field agents have the least trouble imaginable." He said. He cleared his throat. "Besides, I knew that Badger was tough. She's been in the military longer than either of us has been alive. You don't get to be her age in this profession without being made of the toughest material."

"You saying that you aren't?" Fox asked, a smirk growing on his lips. Rabbit nodded.

"Absolutely. I'm confident in my abilities as an analyst and a techie, and I am ill-equipped to handle life in the field. It won't be a bullet that kills me." He shuffled the papers he had on the desk, and made it clear that he wasn't interested in furthering the conversation. "Now leave me alone. I need to finish this report for Commander Ocelot by dinner and you here is only going to distract me."

Muttering something about pencil pushers and geeks, Fox got himself off of the desk and sauntered out of the Intel office.

…

He decided to burn off some of his anxious energy by going for a light jog. It was midday, but thankfully the sun was buried behind a scrim of grey clouds and potential rainfall, so he wasn't in danger of sweating to death. His shoulder had more or less completely healed up, but the doctor told him to take it easy with the CQC. He'd tapped out a lot sooner than normal today as a precaution, but he made a note to get his revenge the next time he faced off against Bear. This would be the time where he finally got that big Bantu bastard to tap out, instead of vice versa.

Eventually he found himself on the medical platform, and decided to call it a day. Breathing a little bit heavily, he decided to walk over to the edge of the platform and watch the cranes constructing the latest expansion to Mother Base.

As it turned out, he wasn't the only one out there.

"Angel!" Fox said, a grin forming on his face as he took a seat on the edge. "Fancy seeing you out here."

"Yeah. Lucky me." Grey Chameleon said, though she wasn't looking up at him. She was sitting a few feet away from him. "Did you come here specifically to bother me, or is this just a freaky coincidence that you planned out?"

"Why, Angel, when you put it that way you make it sound awfully cynical-like."

"My name is Chameleon." She said, turning to look at him. There was an icy stare in her eyes. Fox's smile faded.

"I don't mean any harm by it, you know. But if you want me to stop I'll stop."

There was a pause. She stared at him, her expression betraying none of her thoughts. Finally, she sighed.

"No…no it's fine. Don't worry about it, it isn't you. It's just…I'm having a rough day."

"Well, everyone has rough days, y'know." Fox said. "I might be a dumb kid from Philly, so I might not be too good at talkin' about it, but I'm a good listener."

"You a good listener? But aren't you from Philadelphia?" Chameleon asked, looking at him and trying her best to appear innocent.

"Yeah, that's real fuckin' funny. I'm trying to be supportive, here!" Fox said. But he was smiling too.

"In your own bizzare, immature way." Chameleon said. "But fine. I'm just tired. I spent all day fixing up a few of the combat soldiers that were out disrupting some supply routes in Afghanistan, which is exhausting even when no one is seriously injured…and I'm troubled."

"By what?" Fox asked. Chameleon looked around, as if wondering if someone was listening.

"I had the strangest case yesterday."

"It's Mother Base, Angel. Strange is the new normal."

"Not like that." Chameleon said. "I had to treat a soldier…from before."

"Before?"

"Before the attack nine years ago." Chameleon said. "Boss had found him wandering in Afghanistan. He brought him back to the Med Bay for an eval, and they had me take care of him." She sighed. "He looked like utter shit, Fox. He was still wearing a uniform for…MSF? I couldn't make it out, the patch was so faded. There was a skull and orange and black background, but he kept muttering something over and over. 'I knew he wasn't dead, I knew it.' I had to monitor him for an entire day and a half, just to make sure that he didn't try to harm himself or others. He was barely lucid, and went into convulsions more than a few times. We had him strung up on IVs and everything I could think of. I…I think he'd been out in the wild for _years,_ Fox. I don't know how he was alive. But…but he is. And I think he's gonna be alive. And he even remembered his old codename: Komodo Dragon."

"That sounds like a happy ending, Angel." Fox said. "So why don't you look like it?"

"Because it isn't the pain and the worry that he caused us by nearly dying on the table." Chameleon said. "I'm a doctor; I've seen that happen before. It's _awful,_ don't get me wrong, but it happens. No, that's not what's bugging me. What's bugging me is this: are there others like him out there?"

Fox had no ready answer for her.

...

He had no idea how much pain he'd been in until he started walking around and his head was clear. He'd been given a wheelchair until he felt more in control of his extremities, but he'd refused as soon as he knew he could put weight on his legs. He was on a shitload of painkillers, and he knew that any sudden movements could bring about a flurry of projectile vomit, but it was worth it to be in control of himself. That was something that the doctors could never take from him then, and they sure as hell weren't denying him now.

He moved deliberately and slowly through the platform, and looked around. Mother Base had never been this big back in the day, and now here it was, a sprawling nation of multiple platforms, all so much greater than the ones that he had ever stepped foot on. Christ, this was only the medical platform that he stood on. And it was already bigger than the barracks that he'd stayed on all those years before. He felt a little bit woozy at the thought of it, and ran a hand through his hair. It had grown messy and unkempt over the years. But, then again, he liked the look. He'd kept it cropped too short back in the day; now he looked like a scarred-up version of…what was the name of that Hollywood actor? James something or other. Stewart? It was the _Mr. Smith Goes to Washington_ guy. Yeah, that was it.

He felt a presence come up behind him. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a lighter and a carton of cigarettes.

"Those are bad for you, you know." The voice behind him said.

Komodo Dragon smiled despite himself.

"And the shit you smoke is that much better, Boss?"

There was a pause, and then a soft chuckle.

"I guess not. A little more futuristic, maybe." Venom Snake walked up next to his old soldier, and the two of them stared out over the waters of the Indian Ocean. He stared at the carton of cigarettes in Dragon's hand, and raised an eyebrow. "That carton is in pretty bad shape for one that's never been opened."

"That's because it's nine years old." Dragon said quietly.

"Why have you been keeping a nine-year-old pack of smokes, and never once cracked them open?"

"Because you gave them to me, Boss." Dragon said, looking his commander in the eye. He took the stunned silence of his commander as a sign to continue. "Nine years ago in the Caribbean, before I went off on a one-man recon op to Nicaragua to see how the Sandinistas were doing. Sort of an after-action report. You told me to wait until I got back from my mission, and you got back from yours…and we'd smoke 'em together." He paused. "That was before the 'inspection.'"

"After all this time?" Snake asked.

"What did you expect, Boss?" Dragon said. "I wasn't about to disobey a direct order, after all."

Snake felt something wet on the corner of his eye.

"Dragon…here. Let me do the honors." He took the lighter out of his soldier's hands, and with a soft _flink_ ignited the flame. Dragon leaned forward, having selected one of the cigarettes in the carton that wasn't ruined, and let it set over the flame until it was alight.

For a moment, the two of them were silent. Dragon with his cigarette, Snake with his phantom cigar. They listened to the waves lapping against the metal support beams beneath them, and watched the stars overhead. Finally, Komodo Dragon spoke.

"Damn, that's a good light."

Snake nodded, and then turned to face his loyal soldier.

"Welcome home, Dragon."

"Thanks, Boss."

 **A/N:** Just another day in the Seychelles.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

They knew something was wrong because he wasn't listening to music.

That was odd. If he had his helicopter parked out on one of the helipads for no good reason, then the probability of one of his old tapes playing was one. Not "probably." Not "most likely." If Baby was out on the helipad, then Pequod was listening to tunes.

Except today he wasn't. He was just sitting out there, in the shade of the helo, and had his arms crossed over his chest. Even from a distance, it was clear to see that he was seething about something.

It was creating an awkward air about Mother Base. Everyone was swinging wide of the Command Platform's helipad, despite the fact that that location was smack dab in the middle of Mother Base. So eventually the entire base seemed to be aware of the fact that Pequod was mad about something. And that, not so surprisingly, only seemed to make him madder. And the Boss knew he needed to step in.

He brought Ocelot with him, just in case. The gunslinger had half-jokingly said that the most dangerous thing in the world was a pissed-off Pole, and that he would know from the reports he'd devoured in his time with GRU, but Snake was skeptical about the "joking" part when it came to Pequod. He was a very large man in general, let alone for a pilot. No one wants to pick a fight with a six foot four refrigerator covered in tattoos. Especially when that refrigerator might be angry about something.

No one except him, apparently. Snake sighed.

"Pequod." He said, as he got within earshot of the pilot. No answer. The kid hadn't even reacted. Snake frowned. He might give the young man a lot of leeway, but straight up ignoring a commanding officer was pushing it. " _Pequod_!"

The young man turned to look at the Boss, his eyes slightly puffy and somewhat sunken. Snake knew that on off days the kid's eyes were sometimes red, and the stash of medicinal herbs that were used to make his phantom cigars would be suspiciously lighter, but this wasn't that kind of puffy red. Now he regretted being so harsh just a moment ago.

"Sir." Pequod said. No emotion, no joy. Just like a drone. Snake hesitated. Talking to people was still not one of his favorite things, especially if they were stressed or in emotional turmoil. Probably had something to do with his own fragility, even if he didn't want to admit it. He couldn't even bring himself to admit to the rest of the base that Paz had survived her fall all those years ago. So Snake cleared his throat and tried the first thing that came to mind.

"Are you okay, son?"

Wrong move.

"Do I _look_ okay, sir? As a matter of fact, I'm about as fucking far from okay as you can fucking GET!" The young man rose up from his folding chair, and stomped away from them, practically gnashing his teeth in rage. One of the Mother Base soldiers tried to stop him from getting any further, but with one withering gaze Pequod caused the man to practically shrink. He stepped aside, and let the pilot storm off to parts unknown. Most likely his private quarters.

"Well, that could have gone better." Snake sighed. Ocelot was about to reply, but then he looked at something fluttering on the ground.

"Hang on, Boss." Ocelot said. He picked it up before it blew off of the platform and into the sea. It was a folded piece of paper, with what looked like shoeprints on it. "Looks like he had it under his boot, like he was trying to rub it into the ground."

"What is it, Ocelot?" Snake asked.

"Hang on, gimme a minute…" Ocelot said, as he fumbled with opening up the folds. He looked at the sheet of paper, reading it intently. And then, he let out a long and low whistle.

"What? What is it, Ocelot?" Snake asked. Ocelot looked at him, and gave a sardonic smirk with more sympathetic sorrow than genuine mirth.

"He got Dear Johned, Boss."

There was an awkward pause.

"Dear…Johned?" Snake asked, a completely bewildered look on his face. "Who's John? I didn't think that Pequod was-"

"No, no nothing like that." Ocelot said, chuckling a little bit. "'John' isn't anyone in particular, Boss. It's just a general term to refer to the standard format of the letter." He tapped the piece of paper in his hand. "The basic gist of it is that the writer, for some reason usually the lady, writes to her 'beloved' soldier abroad that things just aren't working between them anymore, and that she's found someone else. She's tired of waiting and worrying about things, and she wants to move on. She wishes him well…but it's over."

There was another awkward pause.

"Are you saying that…Pequod is acting like this because-"

"He got dumped, Boss." Ocelot said. He sighed, and made a sucking noise through his teeth. "Bit of a touchy subject, I'm afraid."

"No kidding." Snake muttered. "I, uh, don't have a lot of experience in the matter."

"Are you suggesting that you have _no_ experience in relationships?" Ocelot asked, his eyebrow raising mischievously. "I don't think that EVA would be terribly pleased to hear you say that."

"…We're different." Snake said, recognizing how lame his comeback sounded. "Though I haven't seen her in a while. Did you keep tabs on her during the time I was out?"

"Last I heard, she was underground fighting against Cipher. Said it was too dangerous for her to rendezvous with you, but that she misses you all the same." Ocelot said somewhat quickly. He frowned slightly. "Might wanna give that one up, though, Boss. She didn't strike me as the settling down type."

"And I do?" Snake asked, staring at his lieutenant and raising an eyebrow. Ocelot chuckled.

"Good point." He said. "You know, Boss, it's going to be a busy couple of days on the base, and I'm guessing that you're not going to be flying any missions out to Afghanistan any time soon." Ocelot gestured to the rest of the base. "So while you're busy with Miller planning out the building of Mother Base and its future, I'll go see if I can find Pequod."

"You don't think I should check on my pilot?" Snake asked.

"Not at all. I'm just saying that maybe I should go first. Pequod might be a little bit intimidated talking to you of all people about it."

"If I didn't know any better, Ocelot, I'd say that you've got a soft spot for the kid."

"Guilty as charged." Ocelot said, chuckling as he held up his hands in mock surrender. "What, are you saying that you _don't_ like Pequod?"

"He can be…tiring at times, particularly about his insistence on playing tunes in the helicopter on the ride back from missions, and I don't know where he gets the energy that he has." Boss said. But then he scratched his chin in thought. "But I'll be damned if I know anyone on base that has a heart bigger than that kid. And it does bother me to know that he's troubled by something." He cleared his throat. "Alright, fine. Why don't you go talk to him and gauge how he's feeling. I'll work with Kaz and set a few more development plans up. Need to give the BDU something to do; at this point, they're just making paper airplanes with blueprint paper waiting for something to happen."

"Good plan." Ocelot said. He chuckled darkly. "You know, I'm not one for making twisted jokes…"

"If you're about to point out how for once a Russian is trying to help a Pole instead of telling him what to do under pain of death or imprisonment, I think you'd best not tell Pequod that. I doubt he'd appreciate the irony."

"Obviously, Boss. I'm crazy, but I'm not _stupid."_

…

He first looked through the main lounge of the Command Platform, where there were a few of the soldiers on break lounging about. Some were playing cards, others were napping, and a few were even sleeping. Presently, he found what he was looking for.

"Commander Ocelot!" Wounded Fox said with a grin. "Come to join us for a round of cards? I was just about to soak Osprey and Rabbit dry."

"No time, unfortunately." Ocelot said. "I'm looking for Pequod. You boys seen him?"

Immediately, their smiles faded. Ocelot knew the answer before they even spoke.

"Yes, we saw him, but he didn't stop to talk." Osprey said. "He just stormed through the doors, grabbed his dinner, and then stomped off somewhere towards the barracks. He looked pretty pissed; not that I blame him."

"Great. So I'm dealing with a raging Pole." Ocelot said, sighing and facepalming.

"You're Russian, aren't you?" Fox asked. "Doesn't that make this just another Tuesday for you?"

"A mouth like that and you're cruising for a bruising, soldier." Ocelot warned. "Alright, I won't bother the three of you anymore. If all goes as planned, I think I'll be able to talk to the kid and get him in a suitable mood. Just, uh, call that one medic friend of yours if I stagger in here with a knife in my neck, okay? Pequod's a big kid, y'know."

"Of course, sir!" They all saluted his bravery.

…

It took Ocelot about five minutes to find Pequod. He was sitting up at the top of the Command Platform, on the brand new helipad that was resting right next to the "brain" of the Command Platform: that is to say, the location where the Boss and Miller and Ocelot planned their next steps. Pequod was sitting on the edge of the helipad, his feet dangling off the edge in the air and with his back to the approaching intel commander.

"Mind if I take a seat?" Ocelot offered, once he was within earshot. He heard a grunt, that he interpreted as an affirmative, and took a seat next to Pequod. Ocelot reached into the brown paper bag he'd brought, and pulled out an apple. Dinner was understandably light tonight; Basilisk, the on-duty cook, had the misfortune of working the Sunday shift: the day before the weekly shipment of foodstuff from the mainland.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound being Ocelot crunching on his apple. It was a pretty tart one, allegedly all the way from somewhere in Western Michigan. Ocelot made a note that he was going to have to stop there in the future; this was a damned tasty fruit.

"You hurting bad, huh." Ocelot said. It wasn't a question. Just a simple statement. Pequod nodded.

"I loved her, sir."

"Ocelot's fine for now, Pequod."

"…Ok. I loved her, Ocelot."

"How long did you know her?"

"Since I was eighteen."

"How long were you dating?"

"About five years."

"Wow, that's a pretty long time. Was it a sort of love at first sight thing?"

"No, it wasn't. I met her when I was eighteen, and didn't have the courage to ask her out for coffee until I had just turned twenty."

"What was her name?"

"Julia, sir. Just another girl from Chicago, like me. Wasn't a soldier, or anything like that. Nursing student. We'd been doing the long-distance thing for about three years. You know, while I was getting my wings and hiring myself out to anyone that needed the best damned pilot alive." He chuckled a little bit, and then sniffled his nose. "I thought she was the one, sir."

"What was she like?"

"Quiet, I guess. Cute as a button. Very reserved, and all that. I dunno, I just…I thought we were happy." Pequod shrugged. "She's also my first relationship, so I guess that skews things. But it still hurts." He looked pensive. "And here I was, thinking I'd get to give her this." He reached into his pocket, and was now holding a small box. He flipped it open, and Ocelot took a look at the ring inside.

"That's an impressive rock, Pequod." Ocelot said. He sighed. "Mind if I say something though?"

"Sure, sir."

"I'm glad that you didn't waste it on her."

Pequod shot him the ugliest glare he'd ever seen. Ocelot raised his hands gently.

"Let. Me. Finish. Yeah, young love is pretty and vibrant, like a flower that's just bloomed in the wake of winter. But it rarely lasts, and I don't think that a quiet little wife back home is the life that you want."

"How do _you_ know what I want?" Pequod said, challenging him.

"Because I know _you._ I've seen you under stress plenty of times while flying Baby through the craziest of situations, and you know what I've noticed? You've never rattled. Don't know if you've got the nerves of steel, or if you're just smoking enough of Boss' private stash to calm yourself."

They both laughed at that. But then Ocelot continued.

"I've even seen it in briefing, when Miller had to detail a dangerous grab-and-rescue or a search-and-destroy mission where you were flying right into the fire. Never once have I seen your hands shaking, for example. Pequod, I don't think you'd be happy with a little cute-as-a-button wife with two kids and a dog and a white picket fence. You'd miss this life terribly."

"Are you sayin' I should just stop jerking everyone around and marry Baby?" Pequod asked, sniffling slightly and getting the intel commander to crack a toothy grin.

"No, but I wouldn't rule it out just yet. I'm saying that the _real one_ is someone who will understand the life that you're living, and the career you've chosen. You're a helo pilot who makes a living as a mercenary. That is a _frantic_ job, to say the least. You're never gonna be at your happiest unless you're indulging that thrill junkie in you. And whomever the right one is, and you _will_ meet the right one, will understand that and appreciate it. Hell, she might love it even more than you." Ocelot paused, and then grinned. "Or he. I don't judge."

"Commander!" Pequod said. "I thought we were having a serious heart-to-heart here."

"Who said we aren't?" Ocelot asked. "I'm no expert on relationships myself, but there's one thing I know about people in general." He turned and looked at Pequod right in the eye. "There is _nothing_ wrong with holding onto grief. That's human, and that's natural. But you can't forget to leave room to hold onto other things as well, too." He stood up, and started to walk away. "If you need any help or need someone to talk to, you know where to find me." He smiled warmly. "It'll be alright, kiddo."

With that, he left the young pilot to his thoughts.

…

Pequod sighed. It was nightfall, and he figured it would probably be best to dock Baby for the night. He radioed to the Intel team and air traffic control that he was about to bring Baby into one of the hangars for the night, and as soon as he received the all-clear he started his descent down the platform to the helipad where his helicopter was parked.

He reached Baby after a few more minutes, but then stopped short. He narrowed his eyes, staring at his helicopter suspiciously. And then he sighed.

"You're not fooling me, you know. I can tell when Baby's carrying something in the ACC."

There was a slight _whoosh_ sound, and soon Quiet appeared, sitting cross-legged in the center of the ACC. She had a concerned look on her face. Pequod sighed, a tired smile on his face.

"Let me guess, you heard I was upset?"

A nod, the concerned look still on her face. Pequod chuckled darkly.

"Yeah, today hasn't been a good day. Though I'm feeling a little bit better about it than I was earlier. Ocelot talked me off of the ledge. I mean, it doesn't guarantee that I don't wake up crying my eyes out some day down the road, but I'm better."

Quiet leaned forward, the concerned look on her face a little more pronounced.

"No, there really isn't anything that you _can_ do for me, Quiet. Though I really appreacite the offer, I do. It's just…" He looked at her, cocking his head to the side. "You ever have a relationship?"

Quiet scrunched up her face, and shrugged. Pequod did a double take.

"What do you mean, 'sort of?' You mean you had a bunch of meaningless hook-ups?"

A disgusted look and a fierce shaking of the head.

"Ok, ok. Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. But, what? You've never loved someone before?"

Quiet's face was like a tomato, and she refused to make eye contact. Pequod looked at her with confusion, but then he smirked with understanding.

"…I see. Well, don't give up hope. If a dumb Pollack like me can find a girl, I think a pretty lady like you can find the one you love too."

Quiet looked at him, a somewhat hopeful look on her face.

"Of course, I'm afraid that, while drop-dead gorgeous and sexy as _hell_ with the way you blow peoples' heads off with that rifle of yours, I'm afraid you're just not my type, Quiet."

Quiet now looked completely unamused, with a little bit of exasperation in a 'how did I not see that coming' sort of way thrown in for good measure. She threw something at him, hitting the pilot on the face.

"Ow, hey! What the-where did you get a stuffed teddy bear?" He looked at it in complete confusion. He looked at her smug little grin, one that was far too self-satisfied for this kind of situation, and just rolled his eyes.

"Alright, you little jerk. You have succeeded in getting me to feel a little bit better about myself. Missio accomplished. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to dock Baby in th hangar."

An expectant look.

"Of _course_ you can sit in here with me while I do it! What, you thought I wouldn't let you see how it's done? I'll even let you sit in the co-pilot's seat, as long as you don't. touch. _ANYTHING._ "

An childish look of glee, and with a _whoosh_ Quiet had materialized in the co-pilot's chair. She looked at him, and then buckled herself in and gave him a snappy salute.

"Smartass…" Pequod muttered to himself. He hopped in the helo himself, and as the rotors began to twirl he found himself thinking about the words Ocelot had told him. That he would find the "right one" soon enough.

He had no idea how soon it would actually be.

 **A/N:** Just another day in the Seychelles.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

A/N no. 2: This chapter takes place outside of Mother Base, deviating from the typical "only on Mother Base" model.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the side of the door, and gazed out into the night. The sun had set about ten minutes ago, and the night was only just starting to become pitch black. The Boss had left about an hour prior to that, having changed into a pitch-black sneaking suit and a pair of night vision goggles. He'd left his assault rifle behind, racked up inside the helicopter, and had taken a silenced sniper rifle and pistol. Before he'd left, he'd grabbed the young man by the shoulders and practically snarled the order in his ear.

"No light."

He didn't have to tell Pequod twice. Baby was currently sitting barely outside of one of several Afghan villages that the Soviets had retaken in the wake of a renewed push against the Muhajideen, atop a rocky outcrop that gave a brilliant vantage point to anyone that was up there. The helicopter was shut off completely. Not a single system was working, not even the inner heating. That created a soft hum that the Boss didn't want to risk one of the more observant Soviets hearing.

Of course, it also meant that there was no protection against the infamously brutal Afghan desert nights other than the clothes one carried on their back.

Shviering profusely, Pequod walked out of the ACC of Baby and took a seat on the cliff side, overlooking the village that the Boss was in the middle of infiltrating. His feet dangled over the ledge, and he was glad that he wasn't afraid of heights.

Neither was the girl next to him.

"I'm stunned that you aren't cold, either." The young pilot said.

Quiet looked up from her prone position, and frowned slightly. She put a finger to her lips.

"They're not gonna hear me, Quiet. I can barely hear myself."

A raised eyebrow.

"Your super voodoo whatever-the-fuck powers don't count." He gestured to the village. "See anything?"

Quiet shrugged. She was lying down, with her sniper rifle ready to blow the head off of any target that the Boss needed removed. They were at a stupidly far distance from the village, and yet Pequod did not doubt for an instant that Quiet would be able to nail anyone that the Boss needed gone if asked.

Pequod then realized how stupid his question was, and sighed. He thought he heard Quiet snort, like she was suppressing a snicker at his expense. Of course she wasn't going to tell him if she saw anyone; she didn't _talk._

" _Quiet. Left corner building, twenty degrees right. On the roof, smoking a cigarette._ "

They heard the Boss' voice whisper in their ears, and Pequod went rigid. He knew that was a kill order. Quiet leaned into the scope, and stared in the general direction that the Boss had indicated. He pulled out a pair of zoom-in binoculars, and was able to make out the sight of the soldier in question.

" _Do you have the shot?"_

Quiet hummed gently.

" _Do it._ "

Quiet pulled the trigger.

It wasn't that loud, and Pequod watched the solider collapse to the ground. He was glad it was dark out: one time he'd made the mistake of watching Quiet shoot someone in the head in broad daylight, and watched the guy's head explode in red mist. It sounded like someone dropping a watermelon from the top of a building; he couldn't eat the stuff for a week afterwards.

" _Enemy target in the tower with the searchlight. West end of the village. See him?"_

Quiet hummed.

" _Do you have the shot?"_

Another hum.

" _Fire._ "

Another trigger pull, and another soldier slumped to the ground.

They waited in silence for a while, and then the Boss' voice perked up.

" _There's an enemy sniper outside of the command building where the intel files are kept. He's hiding behind a low tin wall, keeping his head down. Probably having a smoke. See him_?"

Quiet hummed, though there was a note of frustration in her tone this time. Pequod followed the line of sight in his binoculars, and saw what looked like a small fraction of someone's helmet sticking up from cover. That was an impossible shot. Quiet's hit would bounce off his helmet, he'd duck behind cover and disappear. And then the alarm would be raised, and the Boss would be cooked. This was a mission designed to destroy communications and otherwise fuck with the Soviet chain of supplies; it needed to be like Snake was never there, so that they wouldn't notice that something was wrong until it was too late.

And here was this overzealous sniper threatening to ruin it all by virtue of being a few inches shorter than what was needed for a clean shot.

That was when Pequod noticed the wind picking up slightly, and saw a little look of determination flash across Quiet's eyes. She got up on one knee, and pointed her sniper rifle directly at the enemy in question. But then she started turning her gun to the left, roughly forty degrees away. And then she lifted her gun up in the air, almost as if she was threatening to shoot the moon.

" _Do you have the shot?_ " Snake asked again, taking note of the silence to speak again.

To Pequod's shock and disbelief, the woman next to him hummed in the affirmative.

"No, bullshit. You do _not_ have this shot. There is not a- _you're pointing your gun in an entirely different goddamn direction!_ There is no way this could-"

Quiet pulled the trigger.

On the life of his future children and on the life of the saint he was named after, Pequod would swear that what followed actually happened. Anything else and he was clearly losing his mind. Because when Quiet pulled the trigger, as God was his witness, he watched the bullet curve through the air like a gigantic banana towards the target, and then embed itself in the man's neck.

There was a pause.

" _Good work, Quiet._ " Snake said. There was a hint of smugness in his voice, as if he'd heard Pequod's disbelief a few moments prior. There was another pause. " _Move up to the guard tower where the downed target is, Quiet. Leave Pequod back there to do the math on that shot._ "

Quiet looked over at the young pilot, winked, and then disappeared in a rush.

…

Now they'd been gone for about ten minutes more. The Boss had clearly infiltrated the city limits, and at this point was going through the motions of interrogation and other methods of skullduggery. Personally, Pequod had to wonder how stupid the guards were to not notice that a few of them were going silent. Probably had something to do with Snake ripping out the communications hub a few minutes ago.

" _Pequod?_ "

The young man had been dozing a little bit in the cockpit of the helicopter, when the Boss' voice rang in his ear. He jolted awake, and adjusted his headphones so that the microphone was now down by his lips.

"What's up, Boss?"

" _I'm going through intel up here in the command center, and apparently this place had more than a few prisoners, both here and in the nearby outpost a half klick from here. Couldn't find anyone in the village, but I think the Soviets moved them to the outpost. Quiet and I are going to head there on foot, and see what we find. Stay sharp; I'll radio when we need an extract._ " The Boss was keeping his voice to a harsh whisper, in case someone was listening.

"Affirmative, Boss." Pequod said. "Want music?"

There sounded like there was a tired chuckle on the other end.

" _No offense, Pequod, but if I have to hear Billy Idol one more time I think I'm gonna put my foot through Baby's door. So just a regular extract, please._ "

Pequod grumbled something about fun-suckers, but acknowledged the Boss' order. He turned up the microphone so that it was resting up by his forehead, and closed his eyes to grab some shut-eye. He figured that the Boss would take a few hours dealing with the outpost. If they were lucky, they'd get out of there by sunrise. From there, the Boss would most likely take them to a nearby Muhajideen camp where any prisoners could be discreetly smuggled to embassies and other neutral ground, outside of the Soviet bloc.

Then he heard something.

Pequod wasn't a paranoid soul, but he knew that something was outside. Discreetly and quietly, he reached down by his feet, and flicked a switch. It was a disabling failsafe, so that if anyone not named him tried to steal the helicopter it would be as useful as scrap metal. He hated locking Baby down, but he knew someone was out there.

As soon as he was sure that the systems were dead, he reached by his hip and pulled out a pistol. It was an FB Vis, otherwise known as the Radom. A Polish variant of the American Browning GP 9mm, it was considered one of the finest handguns on the planet, despite being made back during the Second World War. Simple, sleek, and semi-automatic, Pequod hated using guns but felt very safe with this thing in his left hand. Ocelot had given it to him as a present to cheer him up after getting dumped, and the young man was still getting the feel for it.

He slowly got out of the helicopter, and looked around. He listened quietly, paying attention for any sound that didn't fit with late night nature sleeping. There was some rustling of wind, a few of the brittle plants rustling and whistling.

The sound of a twig snapping.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, and he whirled around to face the source of the noise.

"Come out now." Pequod said, trying to avoid the rapid beating of his heart. He hoped that the unknown soul spoke English. "Now, and you won't get hurt."

The person obliged.

…

He wasn't sure what he'd expected. Maybe a soldier, perhaps. Or a feral dog, maybe. That would have sucked.

He didn't expect her.

She was a woman, obviously. She was dressed in a blue jumpsuit, like the kind they gave out to the prisoners that Boss had been rescuing left and right since they'd started operations in Afghanistan. She had a short, boyish haircut and dark brown hair. That was about all he could tell about her, considering she was covered head to foot in dust and muck and other unmentionable things.

She stared at him with glazed eyes.

"Are you…Russian?" She managed to ask. Pequod snorted.

"Polish."

She looked relieved.

"Oh…good."

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed to the ground.

"Shit!"

Pequod rushed over to her, and felt her pulse. It was there and noticeable. If anything, she just seemed utterly exhausted, judging by the way she was moaning on the ground. He knelt down beside her, and helped her up slowly into a sitting position. She rubbed her head, and looked over at him, a bleary look in her eyes.

"You're a…gentleman." She managed to say. She had an accent from the United Kingdom, but he wasn't sure what it was. He figured if he guessed Irish, she'd get pissed off. But it definitely was a little bit more unique than "standard" British.

Pequod resisted rolling his eyes. If it was Fox, he'd have just guessed English. Stupid Philly kid was stupid.

" _Pequod, my iDroid is signaling that you turned on Baby's failsafe. What's going on?"_

Crap, the Boss.

"Uh…everything is fine. Thought I heard someone, and I did. But it's a…" he turned to her. "Did you escape from that prison down there?"

"No…" She said. Pequod felt his heart drop. If she was playing wounded gazelle, he was probably seconds from getting killed. "…I 'scaped from Da Ghwandar Khan…"

Pequod did a double take, but radioed it in.

There was an incredulous pause on the other end.

" _Da Ghwandar Khan? That's almost thirty miles from here. Are you sure?"_

Pequod looked down at her feet. The footwraps that the Soviets were so "gracious" to give her were completely worn out, and her feet were caked with dried blood. It was amazing that she wasn't screaming in pain.

"One look at her feet, and you'd believe it, Boss."

There was silence on the other end.

" _Keep her as steady as you can. Once you bring Baby around for the extract, I can tend to her a little bit better. I'm good at being a combat medic. About to infiltrate the outpost now. Going into radio silence._ "

He cut the link.

"Who're…who're you talkin' to? Another Pole?" The girl asked. Pequod was about to answer, but then stopped himself. Maybe it was best for him to hold his tongue. And she was half delirious, so it would probably be best to keep things simple for her.

"Yeah. My boss."

"Who's…who's your boss?" She asked.

"Well, not really my boss. My, uh, _wujek._ " Pequod said. She giggled a little bit.

"What…does that word mean?"

"It means 'uncle.'" Pequod said, taking the moment to survey her status. She had battered clothes and her feet were ripped up to all hell, but there was also some blood on her hands. He wasn't sure what from; she didn't seem cut.

"What's…what's his name?" She asked.

For someone drifting in and out of lucidity, she was awfully persistant.

"Uh… _Karol._ His name's Karol."

She giggled again, this time snorting.

"Carol's a girl's name!" Pequod found himself getting indignant.

"No it isn't! Not in Poland."

"Are we…are we in Poland?"

"No. We're in Afghanistan."

"That's…that's what…what I thought. So…Carol's a girl's name."

She was starting to slur her words a little bit, like she was too tired to speak. Sighing, Pequod looked at her in the eyes. She had a glazed smile on her face, like she was high.

"Let's get you off the ground. I'll carry you into the helicopter, okay?"

"Ohh, tha'ss nice 'a you…" the woman said. "Awf'lly gen…gentleman…like."

Pequod grabbed her and lifted her up and carried her bridal-style into the ACC. He laid her on the cot, where Quiet normally laid down, and draped a thick flight coat over her. She shivered a little bit, but snuggled in tightly. He thought he heard her muttering something to herself, but whatever it was he didn't understand it.

…

Another hour passed. He checked his watch. About half past four in the morning. Knowing the Boss, he was probably just about to make his move after spending the last sixty minutes or so just reconning the place. Pequod yawned. This was probably a good time to check the systems on Baby so that she'd be ready to go whenever the Boss needed her.

"Hey."

He nearly jumped out of his seat. He'd almost forgotten that the woman was back there. He turned around in the cockpit, and saw that she was sitting upright. She was clutching the flight coat close to her chest, as if afraid to let it go and give up some of the warmth, and she had a more awake look on her face.

"H-hey." Pequod managed to say.

"What's your name?" The woman asked.

"Call me Pequod." He said, after a moment's hesitation. She frowned.

"That's a strange name."

"Well…it's not really my name." Pequod said. "But you can call me that. I'm a soldier. It's my callsign." He cursed himself for revealing so much about himself to her. But then she spoke.

"I'm a soldier, too. I just think that Pequod is kind of a strange name."

"There's a reason to it." Pequod said. "I'll let the Boss explain it to you."

"Is that _Wujek_?" She asked, inquisitively. Pequod tried not to smile, and nodded.

"Yeah, that's _Wujek._ I think you'll like him. Just…don't be afraid of him, ok? He looks a little rough, but he's alright."

"Ok." She said.

"You got a name?" Pequod asked.

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"You didn't tell me yours, I'm not telling you mine."

"Oh, that's not fair."

"Life isn't fair."

"Not very smart to be criticizing the guy who saved you."

To his surprise, she laughed at this. Hard. And then she started clutching her ribs in pain.

"Ahahaowhaha, ow, don't make me laugh I think I broke a few ribs in my escape. And no, you didn't save my life. I was doing just fine without you. Broke out of a prison camp and ran for it, and would've made it, too."

"Really." Pequod said, raising an eyebrow and completely unconvinced. But then he saw a flash in her eyes that suggested that she wasn't kidding, so he didn't press the matter.

"Really." She said, pausing for breath. And then she groaned in exhaustion. "My head hurts. I'm gonna lie down."

"You're awfully calm for someone that has been picked up by a stranger." Pequod noted.

" _Ahab to Pequod. Requesting immediate exfil. Make room for two more; we've got some prisoners._ "

Pequod flipped on the necessary switches, and within moments he felt the rotors above him come to life and start whirring. A few moments after that, Baby got off the ground with a lurch.

"This is Pequod. Approaching LZ. Request air-to-ground support?"

" _Negative, Pequod. No hostiles._ "

"Affirmative. See you in a few, Boss. And tell Quiet that she's gonna have to stand for this ride back."

" _Understood, Pequod. Ahab out._ "

Tilting the throttle forward, Pequod felt Baby nose forward and cut through the air towards the marked location on his radar. He saw a tuft of green smoke lazily rising up in the distance, and knew that that was the Boss signaling for him.

When they were safely in the air, Pequod risked a look back at his new passenger.

But she was already fast asleep.

 **A/N:** Just another day working for the Boss.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

They'd been flying back for about three hours now. Early in the morning, the Boss had ordered them to stop at a friendly Afghan resistance base in order to refuel and resupply before the return to the Seychelles and Mother Base. It was also there that they were able to take stock of the prisoners. There were four of them in total, two men and two women. The two men and one of the women thanked Snake profusely for their rescue, but expressed their desire to return to their previous lines of work prior to their incarceration. After paying the appropriate fare, Snake had some of the Muhajideen rebels escort them to the nearest embassy. The village elder made a big deal out of promising their safety, and Snake took him upon his word.

That, of course, left the remaining prisoner. The one that Pequod had "rescued" on his own.

She was sitting in the ACC, on the bench across from where Quiet sat. While the sniper was lying down on her stomach, legs kicked back and forth lazily in the air, the other woman was sitting upright with her arms folded across her chest. She regarded the woman across from her with a raised eyebrow, and then finally spoke.

"So, uh, is there a reason she dresses like that?"

Pequod nearly veered Baby into a nosedive from sheer shock, as Quiet fixed the woman with a cold glare. Snake sighed, in the manner of an exhausted parent.

"Yes."

"…And?" The woman asked. "What is it?"

"She's not at liberty to say." Snake said. "Quiet here isn't much for talking."

The sniper shook her head, and with that reached under her bench and pulled out a worn-looking book. Pequod noticed her doing so, and resisted the urge to do a double take.

"What th-Quiet, is that my book?"

Quiet looked over her shoulder and back towards the pilot, and had a smile like a cat that had just swallowed the canary. The other woman shook her head.

"So, she's a thief too?"

"You're pushing it, sweetheart." Pequod finally said. "Quiet here could kick any of our asses."

"Is that right?" The woman asked.

"It is." Snake said. "I'd suggest against getting her angry." He turned to Quiet. "Which book did you filch this time?"

Quiet held it up so that he could see the front cover.

" _Lord of the Flies,_ huh? That anything like Lord of the Rings, Pequod?"

" _No._ " Pequod said pointedly. He sighed. "No, it is not."

"I might have to read it, then." Snake said, rubbing his chin in thought. "Seems like a good book."

"I, uh, don't know if you'd like it, sir." Pequod said quickly. "It's a little…dark."

Snake just stared up at him, giving the young man a moment to remember who he was talking to.

"I _think_ I can handle it, Pequod." Snake said. He turned to the other woman in the ACC. "First things first: if you're serious about joining our cause, I'm going to be very clear with you. For starters, as soon as we land you're going to be interviewed by my chief intelligence officer. If you've got any secrets to hide, he'll find out. If you're a mole, you will be treated as a traitor deserves." He stared a hole into her very soul with that glare. "So consider this your last chance: do you _really_ want to be a Diamond Dog?"

"Yes." The woman said. "I'd rather be fighting than jerked around."

"…So be it." Snake said. He turned to Pequod. "How much longer do we have, Pequod?"

"A few more hours, sir." The pilot said. Snake nodded, and turned to the woman.

"We have some time to kill. You have a name?"

"My name's-"

"No, not your real name. Do me a favor, and think of your favorite animal. Go."

"Dragon."

Everyone stared at her. Even Quiet put down her book to stare with a confused expression. The woman shrugged.

"What? Wales loves Dragons. I'm a Dragon." She turned to Quiet. "A sight better than 'Quiet,' don't you think?"

The sniper looked like a child who'd just had her sand castle kicked into ruins. The temperature in the ACC seemed to have dropped a few degrees. Snake sighed.

"…Dragon. Stop antagonizing Quiet. That's an order." He said. There was a harshness in his tone that shut the young woman up completely.

…

A few hours later, they arrived at Mother Base. Quiet teleported out of the ACC, drawing a shriek of surprise and shock from Dragon, and a somewhat smug look from Pequod. He didn't like it when the others made fun of or reacted with derision towards Quiet; it was nice to see when the mute sniper got one over on her tormentors. Snake placed a hand on Dragon's shoulder.

"I've notified Ocelot of our arrival. You'll be cleaning up, and then meeting him in Room 101."

"Oooh, sounds secret!" Dragon said. She had a smirk on her face. And then the door opened. She turned towards to Pequod and winked. "See you later, handsome." And then she turned towards Snake. "Thanks for your hospitality, _Wujek._ " She hopped out of the helicopter, and followed a soldier that was to usher her to the showers and then Room 101. Snake watched her go, and then turned back towards Pequod.

"Who's Wujek?"

The pilot bit the inside of his cheek.

…

"…This is a bad idea."

"You always say that, Rabbit."

"And am I ever wrong?"

"No."

"Fuck off."

"Brother Rabbit is right." Bear said, turning towards the gleeful-looking soldier at his side. "You are going to fail, and we are going to have to drag you to Sister Chameleon to put you back together."

"Hey, if I get a chance to see Angel again…"

"Fox, at this rate I'm surprised that she hasn't reported you for sexual harassment."

"Because I know my boundaries, you dunce."

Both Bear and Rabbit exchanged a look.

"Okay, fuck you guys. I'm doing it."

Wounded Fox walked towards his target, and with a loud clearing of his throat got the man's attention.

"'Scuse me, sir."

The man turned to face him. Fox thought he looked like George Bailey from _It's A Wonderful Life_ , if only with shaggier hair.

"What's on your mind, son?"

"Well, you were with the Boss back in the beginning, right?"

The older man took a drag from his cigarette.

"That's right."

Fox took a deep breath.

"So, uh, did you guys practice CQC back in the day?"

The older man laughed.

"Did we do CQC? Oh, we did CQC." He raised an eyebrow. "Kid, we _invented_ CQC." He looked rather amused. "Wait…I know this tone of voice. You want me to show you a few of my moves, don't you?"

"Well, it'd be nice to not get my ass kicked by Bear and the larger guys on base. Philly rage only goes so far, you know."

"I'm from Pennsylvania, kid. If you think that 'rage' is what makes a successful practitioner of CQC, then you don't know anything at all."

"Then teach me, sir." Fox said.

Komodo Dragon looked the young man up and down, and then sighed.

"Fine. I'll train you. But first…" He held out his arm, a carton of cigarettes in his outstretched hand. "Take a cigarette."

Fox did a double-take.

"Whu-what?"

"Just take a cigarette."

Fox hesitated, and then reached his hand out. Quick as a flash, Komodo Dragon switched the pack to his other hand, and smacked away Fox's hand with his now-free hand.

"Ow! What the fuck?"

"Take the cigarettes from me." Komodo Dragon said.

Fox tried again, and this time Dragon side-stepped him and tripped the younger man, causing him to tumble head over feet to the ground. At a distance, Rabbit and Bear turned to face each other.

"This might be brutal."

"I think you are right, brother Rabbit."

"…"

"…"

"Wanna watch?"

"I have my iDroid recording, Brother Rabbit."

…

"Are you sure it was him?"

Miller turned to face the gunslinger, and there was a hateful look in his eyes.

" _Positive._ "

"What's going on?" Snake entered the room, and saw his two lieutenants clearly in the middle of a deep conversation. Ocelot was leaning against the desk that Miller sat at, and nodded a small greeting to the commanding officer. Miller, on the other hand, slammed his fist on the desk.

"The rat-bastard is reaching out to us, dammit! That's what's going on!" He growled. Snake blinked once.

"You're going to need to back up, Kaz."

" _Emmerich._ " Miller hissed, not speaking so much as spitting each syllable. He saw the look that passed across Snake's face, and nodded. "That's right. The same little snake that took so much from us with his 'inspection.' He's reached out to us."

"On what grounds?" Snake asked.

"He wants to _defect."_ Miller snarled. "Defect! I wonder if he said the same thing to Cipher so that they'd spare his weaselly, pathetic skin."

"Easy, Miller." Ocelot said, motioning with his hands for the man to settle down. "We can't speculate on his reasons _why_ he wants to come to us now, only acknowledge the fact that he's clearly unhappy working with Cipher and XOF, and wants to come back." He turned to Snake. "Regardless of how we feel about him, we need him here. Better to keep the devil you know in chains than let the devil you don't know run free."

"…I think you're mixing up metaphors there, Ocelot." Snake said.

"Intentionally so. My point is this: it's better to keep Huey here than let him work with Cipher. And who knows? Maybe he'll have some inside information on the inner workings of what they've been up to for the last nine years."

"And you think that he's just going to give that information up?" Miller asked bitterly. "He's probably spent the last nine years crafting lies and lies and lies to provide an explanation for everything he's done. Nothing he says will mean anything, and you know it."

"Miller, I'm insulted." Ocelot said. "I thought you knew my skills better than that."

He smirked, and a cold shiver went through Snake's skin. When it came to torture and "enhanced interrogation," Revolver Ocelot worked with oils and canvases the way that the rest struggled with crayon and paper. He almost felt sorry for Emmerich.

"Then figure out where his transmission came from, and have the intel team research every last piece of information I can use." Snake said. He turned to Ocelot. "I want every last bit of info available for this mission. It's been nine years; I don't want to lose him now because someone missed something."

"When have we ever let you down?" Ocelot asked, smirking. Snake rolled his eyes.

"Just don't start now."

…

He sat in his chair just outside Baby's ACC, and felt his eyes shut despite his best efforts to keep them open. It had been a long trip in Afghanistan, and he hoped that they wouldn't get called back into duty…at least a few days from now. That was unlikely, so he prayed for at least a day off duty. The other pilots were coming along well in their training, but in the end the Boss kept calling his name as his pilot. It was an honor, but it was also tiring.

He had barely closed his eyes when he sensed that there was a presence next to him. He groaned.

"Dammit Quiet, can't you let a man sleep in pea-"

He opened his eyes.

"Oh."

It was that woman that he'd rescued. She was sitting on one of the other crates strewn out on the helipad, and there was a smirk on her face.

"Did I disrupt your beauty sleep?"

"No. I didn't even get started." Pequod said. There was something that told him he should probably straighten out while talking to her, but then a larger part of him told him to not give a fuck. So he continued to lounge in his chair like a lizard. "I take it your little 'interview' with Ocelot went well?"

"Swimmingly." Dragon said. "I even got an adjective: call me 'Spitting Dragon' now. Pretty badass, I think." She smiled. "Commander Ocelot was so nice. We spent the majority of the time talking about Wales and what it's like. He said he's been trying to learn _Cymraeg_ , though his accent is quite terrible. Did you know he speaks like eight languages fluently?"

"It wouldn't surprise me." Pequod said. "He's a smart guy." He closed his eyes, and hoped that she'd take the hint.

"What languages do you speak?"

" _Nie zawracaj mi głowy, nie widzisz, że jestem zajęty_?" Pequod muttered. Spitting Dragon giggled. It was a surprisingly cute sound for the way she normally acted.

"That's a rough-sounding language. What is it, Russian?"

Pequod opened his eyes wide as could be, and just stared at her.

" _Polish._ " He growled. Dragon's grin faltered.

"Oh, sorry. Bit of a sore spot, I imagine."

"Just a tad." Pequod said.

There was an awkward silence, until Dragon spoke again.

"I'm sorry, you know."

"I know. And it's alright. I'm just…I've been busy with other things lately."

"What was her name?"

"What?" Pequod nearly fell off his chair. "How did you-who-wha-"

"Please, Pequod. I'm a woman. We can tell. And, if it makes you feel better, she must've been a real bitch to dump you. You're pretty cool, I think. Unless you're not. But I bet you are. Hopefully. Well, I'm headed to the barracks to get situated." She stood up, and brushed her strawberry brown hair out of her eyes. "Good night, Pequod. Say hi to _Wujek_ the next time you see him." She winked, and disappeared.

A rather baffled Pequod watched her go, wondering what the hell had just happened.

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles. And to any Polish speakers out there, hope I got the phrase right.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Not a word was spoken in the ACC.

Normally, this wasn't that unusual. After a long day of missions, the Boss wasn't particularly up for small talk or chatter. He liked to sit in the back of the helicopter, and either catch up on sleep or quietly listen to his pilot's interactions with Quiet. Or he'd be calming down any prisoners that they'd rescued in Afghanistan. It had gotten to the point where Ocelot half-jokingly suggested that they were able to recruit an entire unit out of former prisoners.

But today was different, and the prisoner sitting next to him had something to do with that.

"Landing at Mother Base in five." Pequod said. There was no mirth to his voice; he sounded rather clinical. Snake resisted the urge to sigh. He never liked it when the kid was acting cold; Pequod was better both as a pilot and as a person when he wasn't carrying a grudge or mad about something. And it was easy to read the tension in the air, and determine that the pilot was clearly stewing about _something._ Snake had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to find out.

"Thank goodness." The voice of the prisoner, muffled as it was by the bag over his head, said. "I'm getting sick without knowing where we're going!"

Snake didn't bother responding. Quiet just glared at the prisoner herself. And Pequod said nothing, either.

…

Five minutes later, the helicopter landed on the pad in front of the R&D platform. Normally this would be a landing that would take place at the Command Platform, but Ocelot and Kaz had both agreed that the R&D platform was the best place to drop off the target. After all, it was where Room 101 was located on Mother Base: the perfect place for a "private" chat. Snake gestured for the pilot in front of him to open the doors to the ACC.

Quiet stepped out of the cockpit, and stood in front of the trio of Mother Base soldiers that were there to meet Snake and his captive. Normally, the majority of the Mother Base staff treated her with fear or distrust if not outright disdain. But they didn't even bother to acknowledge her; it might have been the fact that they sensed she had a similar feeling to theirs. And even they could appreciate this disturbing woman taking their side on something so delicate as this.

As Snake stepped out of the ACC with his prisoner, he noticed that Pequod had turned off the helicopter and was in the middle of unbuckling his seatbeat. That struck the mercenary as rather out of character: Pequod usually docked Baby in one of the under-base garages before getting out, or kept Baby parked on the command platform if he felt like lounging around.

Finally, Snake realized that there was no putting it off. He sighed, and yanked the bag off of his prisoner's head. The prisoner winced as his eyes adjusted to the sudden incursion of light and bright colors, and blinked multiple times.

"You could have given me some warning, Snake!" Dr. Huey Emmerich said, somewhat poutingly and somewhat jokingly at the same time. He'd meant for it to come off as friendly banter; it sounded like complaining. He didn't notice Snake's glare, and looked over at the Mother Base soldiers. "H-Hey guys! You must be some of the Boss' new soldiers. He only picks the best, right?"

Dead silence. Huey gulped, and then his eyes flitted over to Quiet. He turned beat red at the sight of her.

"Um, h-hello…You…you must be-are you-?"

Quiet…well, she didn't _hiss_ , but she made a noise of abject disgust from somewhere in the back of her throat. Not wanting to be in this man's presence any longer, she disappeared. While the rest of the people on the platform were totally used to Quiet's shenanigans, Huey was utterly terrified.

"What the-? Did any of you see that?"

Dead silence. Emmerich frowned.

"Hey, you know, it's not very nice to be so cold. I'm on your side, remember? I defected from Skull Face to help you, to help the Boss!" He turned towards the Boss with a pleading expression on his face; Snake didn't even acknowledge his presence. For a brief moment, a look of panic flashed across Emmerich's eyes. But then he saw another figure walking up to them. It was Pequod.

"Hey…I know you." Emmerich said. Pequod was now right in front of him, a look of cold fury on his face. Either Emmerich was braver than Snake thought, or he was literally incapable of seeing murder staring him an inch from the face. "You're the Boss' trusted pilot! It's…your name is Morpho, right?"

It was like lighting a match by an exposed gas line. Pequod's eyes bulged in rage and, before anyone could react, he spit right in the face of the scientist in front of him. From the look of it, he'd been building up saliva. Emmerich sputtered in shock, and took off his glasses to clean them off.

"H-Hey! What was tha-"

He didn't get to finish, as Pequod spit in his face again. It was as if the pilot had waited until Emmerich had just finished cleaning himself off before spitting, as if to maximize disdain.

"Stop that!" Emmerich yelped. "What did I do to you, Morpho? That wasn't me that shot down your helicopter all those years ago it was-"

He didn't get to finish that sentence, as Pequod swung a mighty right hook and caught Emmerich flush under the jaw. Thanks to his exo-suit prosthetics, Emmerich was kept upright but was completely unconscious at the same time.

"Well, I was gonna just tranquilize him, but that works too, I suppose."

Ocelot had walked up towards the group, with Miller hobbling right behind him. With a nod, Ocelot dismissed the soldiers. But before they did, Snake cleared his throat.

"Wait."

They stopped, and turned to look at their Boss. Snake sighed heavily, as if what he was about to speak was going to hurt him very badly.

"Take Pequod to the brig until we're done with Emmerich." He looked at the pilot and sighed again. "I understand the rage, but even so: Emmerich is still a prisoner and needs to be treated with dignity and respect. Those kinds of actions are unbecoming of a Diamond Dog."

"Even if he doesn't deserve it…" Miller muttered quietly. He was silenced by a stern look from the Boss.

"Once we're done with Emmerich, Commander Ocelot will come to discuss this matter with you." Snake said. "Do you understand?"

"One request, sir." Pequod said, his visage still cold and expressionless.

"Of course."

"Can you be present when Commander Ocelot is there for me?"

Snake nodded, and a look of relief passed across the young pilot's face. With that, the soldiers started walking away towards the brig. Ocelot patted Pequod on the shoulder in a reassuring manner, and then turned towards the three remaining individuals with him.

"You know we're mostly going to be discussing dinner plans and ways to modify Baby." He said to Snake matter-of-factly. The Boss nodded.

"I know. And I suppose the thought of doing this crossed my mind."

"Pequod just had the guts to go and do it." Miller said. "If you dare to court-martial him, I will serve as his defense and run you into the ground, Boss."

"That…won't be necessary." Snake said, trying not to smile. A look at Emmerich did the trick. "Come on. Let's get him to Room 101. I want to find out what he knows. About everything."

...

"He punched the scientist?"

"Yep! Just laid into him. BAM!" The Dog in question smacked one of his fists into his palm to emphasize the point. He did it with enough force that some of the others flinched. "I saw it with my own two eyes, cuz I was one of the four guys that led him to the brig. But if they do anything to Pequod, we'll mutiny. That was a deserved strike. Took all I had not to burst out laughing when I saw that limp-dick scientist standing unconscious." He finished with a proud look on his face. Wounded Fox laughed.

"You're shitting me. Our boy Pequod did that?"

"Damn straight." The Dog, named Stubborn Bull, said. "We were high-fiving him the whole way to the brig."

"I don't really understand." Howling Badger said, brushing a lock of her hair out of her eyes. "I get the fact that this Dr. Emmerich, this 'Huey', has been playing both sides, but what was it about him that got Pequod to snap like that?"

"He knows what happened nine years ago." The table of Dogs turned over to see old Komodo Dragon sitting by himself at the table next to them, in the middle of lighting a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke, and blew it out through his nose. Perhaps that was how he'd gotten the moniker of "Komodo Dragon," though no one was brave enough to ask. In his short time since being rescued from the Afghan desert, Komodo Dragon had quickly risen through the ranks to the point where only the Boss and Howling Badger were his superiors in the Combat Unit. And, officially, Badger and Dragon had never sparred to determine who was the leader. Bets were already being made on who was better at CQC.

"Which is what? The base got fried, right?" Wounded Fox asked, and then winced. That wasn't exactly the most polite way to put it, and even he knew it. Thankfully, Komodo didn't take offense. He did turn to look Fox in the eye, however.

"Yes." He said. "Yes, it did. And the level of depth and complexity to the attack…it suggested that there was an inside hand to help the enemy." Komodo took another drag on his cigarette. "And I wouldn't be surprised if that Emmerich had something to do with it."

"Careful, honey." Howling Badger said. "It isn't wise to engage in scuttlebutt on something that sensitive."

Only Howling Badger could get away with calling someone like Komodo Dragon "honey" and not get pasted or thrown over the railing into the sea below. He raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

"Maybe not for you. But I remember what it was like to call into Mother Base on my radio and get nothing but static and the emergency broadcast on an infinite loop. And if that scientist had something to do with it…"

"What? You'll take matters into your own hands?" Howling Badger asked. She was frowning. The other Dogs all got quiet out of fear. They felt like captured gazelle listening to two lions argue over how to prepare dinner. Komodo stared at her.

"I would, but what would the point be? I'd have to get in line like everyone else on base. And besides, the line starts with the Boss." He shrugged. "If Emmerich needs to die, then rest assured the Boss will be the one to kill him. And if he does that, then my problem is solved. Just because I'm not the one to pull the trigger doesn't mean I'll be upset."

"…Fair enough." Badger said after a moment's contemplation. "Just know that I'm not a fan of vigilante justice, honey. And I never will be."

"I understand." Komodo said with a nod.

The rest of the room let out a collective exhale.

…

The door to the brig opened up, and he looked in the doorway. They'd honored his request, just like he asked. Ocelot took a seat across from him at the little table, and cleared his throat.

"Before we begin, I just need to make something clear for you: we are _Diamond Dogs._ We aren't a tribal militia, and we aren't a bunch of cowboy cops dispensing justice in whatever manner we see fit. We have a code. And part of that code is how we treat our prisoners. We treat those that we have captured with _respect,_ and we do not denigrate and humiliate them to prove a point. And we do not allow for any exceptions to that rule, no matter the skill of the individual that breaks our rules. Do you understand?"

Pequod nodded. Ocelot nodded sagely.

"Good. Then I guess I have one question before I let you go." He leaned in, and managed to keep a straight face. "How'd it feel to sock that son of a bitch?"

"I'm just pissed I didn't get my lower body into it." Pequod said. "I've slapped people harder than that."

Ocelot cracked up. Even Snake had to fight off a grin.

"But why did you react like that?" Snake asked quietly. He was leaning in the doorway. "What did Emmerich say?"

"…He called me Morpho." Pequod said quietly.

"Yes, he did." Snake said, in a tone that implied that he didn't really understand. Ocelot, on the other hand, felt his chest heaving in realization.

"Boss, uh…"

"Is there something that you haven't told me, Ocelot?" Snake asked. He made eye contact with his chief intelligence officer. When he saw the guilty look flash across the Russian's eyes, he just shook his head in resignation. "What am I missing here?"

"You remember Morpho, right?" Ocelot asked. "Older fella, pushing into his forties when he joined Mother Base?"

"Yeah, I remember him." Snake said. "A good man. Good pilot, but a little straight-laced. Mikolaj Krakowski. Polish. Fled the country with his family after the Soviets rolled in in the aftermath of the Second World War, whereupon he moved to…Chicago…" He trailed off. He blinked once, realization setting in.

"Morpho was my father." Pequod said quietly. He put on a sardonic smile. "Did you never notice that he and I sound awfully similar? Like, almost identical?"

"In my defense, it was nine years ago. Voices aren't exactly something that I remembered that well." Snake said. He paused. "I'm…sorry, Pequod. Your father was a good man and a brave individual. The best pilot I ever had." He paused. "Until now."

Pequod looked up at him, and his eyes were glistening.

"Thank you, sir." He said. His smile faded. "Just do me a favor, okay?"

"Anything, son." Ocelot said. Pequod looked at them, and took a deep breath.

"Don't let that bastard in my sight. Keep him locked away in R&D or whatever hell you have cooked up for him. Because if I run into him and he calls me 'Morpho' again…I'll kill him. I'll kill him like he killed my father. My father is dead because that slimy motherfucker sold you out. And I will _never_ forgive him for that."

Snake looked at him, with a stare that seemed to pierce into Pequod's very soul. And when he spoke, there was no doubting the sincerity of his words.

"Of course, son. You're a Diamond Dog. And I look out for my own."

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

He licked the corner of his lips. He was getting thirsty. That was never fun, and awfully distracting when he was in the middle of delicate work such as this. Pequod had a little iDroid out sitting on the floor of the ACC of Baby, and every now and then it would pleasantly intone information for him.

" _Acknowledged. Gun-rotation sensitivity calibrated to 45% sensitivity."_

He shook his head, and kept tinkering with the wires under the bed of the helicopter. It had taken a while for him to unscrew the armored plates that covered Baby's underbelly, and he knew that this was the last bit of work he was going to get in before the weekly inspections.

"Whatcha doin'?"

He wasn't expecting company, and so when he lurched upright from his supine position he banged his head against the belly of the helicopter.

" _Acknowledged. Gun-rotation sensitivity calibrated to 35% sensitivity._ "

He growled in annoyance both at the smarting pain in his forehead as well as the fact that his calibrations had just been set back, and rolled out from underneath the helicopter to see who was the heathen that had interrupted his calibrations.

It was that new girl. Spitting Dragon. She was cleaned up from the last time he'd seen her. Short dark hair in a rather boyish cut and olive skin, as well as piercing blue eyes. She was dressed in what looked like mechanic's clothing, or whatever it was that the R&D assigned to their new grunts.

"Busy." Pequod grunted, rubbing his forehead. "And you interrupting me didn't help."

"Oh. Sorry." Dragon's Welsh accent managed to make that sound both adorably and irritatingly pleasant all at the same time. She winced, but there was a sense that she wasn't being sincere with it.

"Don't patronize me." Pequod said, his eyes narrowed both in annoyance and the fact that the sun was right in his eyes. The way that Dragon was standing over him, she was just out of the way of shielding him from the sun. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she was doing it on purpose. But there was no way that this girl was that petty…was there?

"You're looking a little squinty there, skip. You feelin' alright?"

Yep. She was definitely petty enough.

"I'm. _fine._ " Pequod growled. "Now is there a reason that you stopped by to bother me? Because as much as I'd love to chat…I have-"

"Calibrations on Baby's gun as well as her radar." Dragon said. "They tend to take you most of the day whenever you're out here working on them."

"…How do you know this?" Pequod asked, sitting upright on the sliding board he'd been lying down on. Spitting Dragon chuckled.

"Commander Ocelot told me. He said that you work awfully hard on Baby, and that you might need some relief."

"Don't…don't call her Baby. Only I get to call her Baby." Pequod said. But then he realized something as he processed the rest of what she'd said. "Did…did you say relief?"

"Yup! Commander Ocelot assigned me to be Baby's mechanic."

Pequod fell backwards on the sliding board. However, in doing so, he forgot that he hadn't slid out far enough to avoid hitting his head on the way down.

"Ow, _FUCK!_ "

There was a whooshing sound.

"Goddamn it, Quiet, if you have a camera I swear I will shoot you. I don't _care_ if you can dodge it."

…

WHACK.

"Try again."

THUD.

"That's incorrect."

BANG.

"OWWWWWWW!"

"Son, that's what happens when you rush."

"Well how am I supposed to do anything else?" Wounded Fox popped up from the ground. He was sweating heavily, and his white tee shirt that he wore under his usual on-base fatigues was drenched in sweat. Meanwhile, Komodo Dragon was wearing the standard reg uniform of the Diamond Dogs and hadn't even broken a sweat. The older soldier raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're so goddamn fast that I don't have the time to work on the fundamentals because you'll hit me with another- _AUGH!_ " Fox just barely managed to slap the ground to catch his fall as Komodo swept his leg. "THAT'S NOT HELPING!" Fox roared, drawing some sympathetic glances from the guards on duty on that wing of the combat platform.

"Well, just talking and talking isn't going to help you." Komodo said. "I could have taken you down at least ten different times while you were grousing but I decided to wait to let you catch your breath. But when you kept going…well, I had to do _something._ "

"Asshole." Fox muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Komodo Dragon shrugged, and got into a relaxed fighting stance.

"Get it out of your system now, kiddo. We're gonna be here for a while otherwise."

…

"Have a seat, son."

Rabbit took a seat across from the man at the desk. He never liked these meetings, even though he knew that he was one of the best in the department at them. They were usually in and out in a few minutes, because Commander Ocelot never needed any clarification for Rabbit's reports and detailing. The young man pushed his glasses up on the brim of his nose, and blinked a few times.

"Y-yes, sir." He said. Ocelot had a friendly smile as he shuffled the stack of papers on the desk in front of him, and started to neatly sort them in front of him. He looked at the guard at the door, and nodded pleasantly.

"Close the door. This is level four clearance."

Rabbit gulped, and felt the back of his throat go dry. There were four levels of clearance that he knew of. Level one was general knowledge. Anyone in Mother Base was privy to level one. Level two was a bit more protected information. You needed permission from your unit leader (usually one of the lieutenants) to access the information involved, and you had to keep it tight to the lip. Level three was really tough stuff. The commanders of the various platforms were privy to this info, and you weren't unless it was an emergency.

But level four? That was for the highest ranking members of Mother Base to be privy to. If there was a level four clearance, then that meant that this meeting was going to take a lot longer than just a few minutes.

"Son, you realize what this means, right?" Ocelot asked, leaning forward slightly over the desk. "This could be some sensitive information that you've got here."

Rabbit gulped, but he nodded.

"Yes. Yes sir, I understand that only you and I are to discuss this information unless it gets declassified."

Ocelot smiled.

"Good. Because now this is level five clearance."

"L-level five?" Rabbit asked.

"That means that it's for my eyes only."

Snake stepped out of the shadows, and the way that he'd silently done so nearly made Rabbit wet himself with fear. The Boss might be the man that he worked for and the young analyst trusted him completely, but _damn_ if he wasn't the most terrifying human being that he'd ever seen.

Snake stood over the table, off to the side. He tapped one of the manila folders.

"Tell me what you've found out about Cipher and Africa."

… …

"You wanted to see me, honey?"

"Don't call me that."

"All right, all right. Just a little term of endearment, you know."

"I don't think anyone's ever come up with a term of endearment for me…in I don't know how long."

"I can imagine. You don't look like someone who'd let anyone get away with it."

"So why do I let you get away with it?"

"Probably because I'm better than you at CQC."

" _That_ might be stretching it. But equal? I'd say that's a fair assessment."

"Whatever you say, honey."

"You're mocking me."

"Not at all! Here, gimme a light."

"Sure. C'mere."

"…"

"…"

"How long have you know the Boss?"

"Since he recruited me. It had to have been, what, almost fifteen years ago? Just after the fall of Saigon. I was done with my term in the regular troops and was about to quit military life in general. But then the Boss found me and Miller offered me triple of what my regular pay in the army was."

"I retired after a very long and healthy career with the RAAF…and then I realized that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life quietly waiting for Death to pick me up off of my porch. I just figured that I was a soldier and a fighter, and that I should go out on my shield. And so far, I've been fighting ever since I was recruited by the Boss here. He's a good man. Kind of quiet, though."

"That did surprise me when I came back. Nine years ago and even earlier than that, you couldn't get Boss to shut up…especially about some of his hobbies and personal favorites. These days it's difficult to get more than a sentence or two out of him. I guess it makes sense, though. He's gone through a lot."

"Favorite things? You wouldn't happen to know, would you?"

"Well, I do know that he believes in Santa Claus."

"Oh hohoho-*snort*, for real? Honey, tell me you're joking. Does he really?"

"Yes. He got into a fight with Emmerich over it. Said that NORAD was tracking Santa that year…and that crippled prick Emmerich just laughed at the Boss."

"Well, if he makes the same mistake you know what to do."

"Right. Crumple his throat and then throw him out to sea."

"Honey, you hit them in the back of the head first. They won't feel the next shot."

"…You're pretty good."

"Decades of fighting and being Australian will do that to you, honey."

"Heh. You're alright Badger."

"You're okay too, Komodo."

… …

"So, this thing can just program Baby with a few pushes of a button?"

"That's a rough translation, yeah. I mean, I still have to tweak a few wires here and there. But the heavy lifting gets done by the iDroid."

"This thing is a miracle." Dragon said, taking care not to bump into the little device and upset the calculations it was running. The two were sitting outside of the ACC, on little crates that Pequod had brought out with him. He'd managed to bring a pair of bottled Coca Colas, and they were currently enjoying the cool drink in the stiff Seychelle heat.

"Don't get too attached." Pequod said. "I doubt they'll ever go mainstream. They're fucking expensive, and even the boys in R&D are in awe of how much GMP it consumes just to make the things, let alone program them." He looked over at Dragon. "Aren't you one of them?"

"Sort of." Dragon said. "I qualify as a mechanical tech, but I'm also pretty good at helping run base operations, so I guess I alternate between some of the R&D stuff and some Base Development. All in all, it's not a bad way. Not a bit."

"Yeah?" Pequod asked, taking a pull from his drink. "I'm even more specialized than that. Shit at development, shit at medicine. Okay at R&D, and pretty good at intel and combat. But I've got my own category by being a flyboy. And baby, there is _no one_ that can beat me."

"Is that so?" Dragon asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking. "Are you telling me that you're the best pilot on Mother Base?"

"If not the world." Pequod said, ignoring Dragon's snorting laughter. "It's the damn truth. There's not a thing I can't get the Boss in or out of, and I chew up anti-air emplacements and SAM sites like a woodchipper. Half the time, it's like I'm not even _there._ " He said, smiling a little bit as he said it.

"What drove you to want to be a pilot?"

"My dad worked as a chopper gunner and then a pilot for a while." Pequod said. "He always made it sound so majestic, the way you could soar through the air and yet cut around and dart about left and right. And in the end, he made me believe that I could fly."

"Was it everything he said it would be?" Dragon asked. Pequod took another sip, and sighed.

"Everything and more."

"I'm sure your father would be proud of you, Pequod."

She saw his eyes grow a little misty, but just as soon as it had happened they were back to normal.

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"Talk to me about Africa."

Rabbit gulped a little bit. The Boss was sitting across the desk from him, his arms folded across his chest and a look of passivity on his face. But the look in his eye was one of complete and utter focus. The young analyst had never had that much attention put on him before by the leader, and his nervousness was clear to see. Ocelot smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, kid. Just tell him what you've told me about your notes."

"Okay." Rabbit took a deep breath. "The field ops keep coming in with reports of activity in Afghanistan. It's consistent and reliable."

"So?" Snake asked. "That's something I could have told you from days of field work."

"Yeah, but here's the thing, Boss." Rabbit said, finding a confidence he didn't know that he had. "The reports and the supplies that flow in to the various bases and camps that you've scouted? They don't change. Ever. The same number of supplies in and out…and yet take the facility you found that giant walker thing."

"Sahelanthropus." Ocelot said.

"Sahelanthropus. Right." Rabbit said. "The supplies that go in weekly? They're shipped in like clockwork…but there isn't nearly enough supplies in a shipment to manage the number of soldiers that one would need to adequately stock the base."

Snake's expression softened as he seemed to reach a eureka moment.

"So what you're suggesting…"

"…Is that Cipher is going through the motions with their Afghan bases. They're running a smokescreen, presenting the back side of a playing card to you and telling you it's a brick. It looks good but there's no substance. And to anyone that hasn't looked hard enough, it'd seem like their efforts are still focused in Afghanistan. But thanks to, um, Emmerich's 'confessions'…"

He tried not to look at the smug look on the face of Commander Ocelot.

"…We know that they're sending shipments – in bulk – to Africa. Don't know specifically, but I'd wager that they're headed to the Angola-Zaire region."

"Why there?" Snake asked Rabbit.

"Because Angola is a hotspot for American-Soviet proxy wars." Ocelot cut in. "And it's got some healthy oil fields, so there are plenty of PMCs strutting about trying to get a cut of the market. So with all of that craze, it would make sense for Cipher to just slip in unnoticed and try to continue operations out there."

Snake nodded, his face contemplative. Then he turned to Rabbit.

"Tell me about what you and the Intel Team have found about the PMCs I could see if I went into that region."

Rabbit shuffled his notes, and at the same time was thankful for Ocelot's presence. The leader of the Intel Team was integral to this next part of the debrief.

…

Pequod was so busy washing off the front of Baby's nose that he didn't hear the staggered footsteps behind him.

"Don't you think you've polished her enough?"

Pequod turned around, and didn't bother hiding his amused expression.

"Commander Miller! Haven't seen you for a while. Didn't know that you left the ops building." He said, turning back to apply more soap.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a vampire that sleeps in a coffin, so stop spreading that rumor around." Miller said, adjusting his sunglasses. "I can handle the Seychelles heat just _fine,_ Pequod."

"Of course sir, of course."

There was a pause.

"You know that I don't approve of your interactions with that thing."

"I am aware." Pequod said, continuing to scrub away. Miller wrinkled his nose.

"She's a danger to the Boss, and especially to you. The Boss was only just able to defeat her in one-on-one combat, and it's entirely possible that she was holding back to lull him into a false sense of security. She could easily defeat you."

"Easily."

Finally, Miller could take it no more.

"Pequod, why won't you take my warnings seriously? This is your life that I'm talking about here!"

At that, Pequod dropped the soapy rag into the bucket, and some dirtied water splashed out. He turned to look at Miller, and his expression was ice cold.

"You're right, Commander. It _is_ my life. And I will choose to live it how I please. I don't see shadows everywhere, and I don't immediately give into suspicion. And with the way I've treated Quiet, which is _her name_ , I am confident in the knowledge that if she ever betrayed us…she'd give me an honorable death. Or maybe even keep me as a prisoner, just to force me to make her more mixtapes."

"I could have you dismissed from Diamond Dogs, young man." Miller growled. "This is conduct unbecoming."

"You could." Pequod said. "But you never will."

"And why is that?" Miller asked.

"Because you may question my attitude, and I will freely admit that it can get out of control. But you can _never_ question my resolve. I will willingly fly the Boss through hell, or anyone else on this base. And if you yourself were on the banks of the River Styx, I would be there if you called for an emergency evac."

There was a silence as they stared at each other. Finally, Miller spoke.

"Very poetic, Pequod."

"I have my moments, sir."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Miller's lips.

"Fair enough. So long as your devotion is there, I suppose our discussions will get no more heated than this. Though I _won't_ stop warning you about that thing. It's dangerous." He gestured to the Base Development Platform. "I'm on my way to the BDU to check on the progress for the additions to the Command Platforms. I'll see you later, Pequod."

He hobbled off. As soon as he was out of earshot, Pequod crossed his arms over his chest and tsked to himself.

"Man, there are times where he really needs to get the stick out of his ass."

A slight whooshing sound.

"No, Quiet, I doubt he'd be happy if you volunteered to beat him over the head with that very stick."

…

"Hullo, sweetie, have a seat!"

Hissing Coyote took a seat at the mess hall table. The others were already there, and were in varying states of eating their food. It was lasagna today, and despite his name Vile Armadillo was proving to be a very capable head chef after the retirement of Weasel. It was his first week on the job, and yet already the men and women of Diamond Dogs were starting to look forward to the menus he posted every morning.

"Having a good day?" Howling Badger asked. She'd let her hair down, and every now and then had to brush a grey lock out of her face. Coyote shrugged.

"Alright, I guess. I've been busy. R&D has been working overtime on a lot of projects. I don't know where we got the influx of GMP to afford it, but we afford it all the same."

"What are you working on?" Grey Chameleon asked. She was in the middle of a 24-hour break, mandatory. She'd been working nonstop in the ICU for the past week helping recover two members of MSF that the Boss had found wandering around in the deserts of Afghanistan. When Commander Ocelot discovered that she'd been going so long without relief, he immediately put her on imposed rest and severely reprimanded the lead surgeon, Blue Ostrich, for allowing one of his subordinates to overwork herself without noticing. There was talk that Ostrich was going to get reprimanded more severely in the future, but at this point it was all rumors.

"I dunno. I'm working on creating better plating for Pequod and the fleet of helicopters." Coyote said. "He wanted me to work on better chaff pod missiles, but that's pushing it. I'm only one person after all. Growling Wolf is working on upgrading the sniper rifles that the Boss brings into battle…as well as one for that weird quiet lady."

"Really? She gets R&D resourcing?" Grey Chameleon asked, somewhat annoyed. She wasn't sure what her opinion of Quiet was, but right now she was still on edge.

"Yeah, but it doesn't cost much. Very hush-hush, though. Miller would hit the roof if he found out that Ocelot told Wolf to work on this project. But then again, Wolf was GRU like Ocelot was: they both know the importance of keeping secrets."

"Clearly." Chameleon said, shuddering. Wolf might float into their friend group every now and then, but the Russian was very quiet and very aloof. It was quite intimidating and off-putting at the same time.

"Now now, no need to denigrate one of your sisters." Badger said, in a gently scolding tone. "Wolf is just like the rest of us. Just channels herself in a different way."

"Come on, 'Mom'." Coyote said. "You're the most normal of all of us."

"I wouldn't say that." Badger said with a cryptic smile. "For all you know I'm the craziest person here on Mother Base."

"I bet Komodo thinks that." Grey Chameleon muttered into her coffee, but then realized to her horror that she'd still spoken too loud. To her relief, the others burst into peals of laughter. Badger wiped a tear from her eye and smiled warmly.

"Well, Komodo Dragon is a very dear friend. And I imagine he thinks that because he knows I could beat him in CQC." She then looked around, and then leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. "But don't tell him I told you that."

The others chuckled and promised.

…

"Are they doing alright?"

Komodo looked over at The Boss, and shrugged.

"They're stable, if that's what you're asking. They were in a hotter portion of the desert than I was when they got pulled out, though. I have no idea what their life was like after the fall of Mother Base. I can barely remember my own."

"Their faces are so beaten up and swollen." Snake said sadly. "I can barely recognize them. Can you?"

"I'd recognize Jackal and Eagle Ray anywhere, sir." Komodo Dragon said, puffing cigarette smoke through his nostrils. "Jackal was one of our best demolition experts, and Eagle Ray was good at intel. I'm…I'm kind of stunned that they're alive."

"They are, though. And that's the important thing." Snake got up from his chair, and started walking outside. "I'm headed upstairs to check on someone. I'll talk to you later, Komodo."

"Boss." The loyal soldier said, bowing his head respectfully. He took another drag of his cigarette and watched as the Boss ascended the steps of the Medical Platform to another area.

He often wondered whom it was that the Boss visited up there in his spare time. There were a lot of soldiers that cycled in and out of the Medical Platform due to a variety of issues. Perhaps he was just checking up on them by being a good leader.

…

She almost snuck up on Pequod this time. Spitting Dragon had gotten about five feet from his backside, and was about to pop the blown up bag right next to his ear when-

"Don't even think about it."

She sighed, and let the air out of the bag.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Quiet." Pequod said, pointing to the sniper lady sitting in the passenger's seat of Baby. She was wearing Pequod's headset, and periodically bobbing her head to whatever music that he'd given her today. Dragon rolled her eyes, and sat down on one of the crates next to Pequod. She looked at the bottle he was dangling in his hand.

"Whatcha drinkin'?"

"Stella."

Dragon made a face.

"Stella Artois? Christ, that tastes like runny piss!" She shook her head. Pequod opened one of his eyes and flitted it towards her.

"Are you dissing my tastes?"

"Absolutely!" Dragon said. "I'm not gonna be polite when I know that the person I'm working with is drinking something no true drinker would be caught dead guzzling."

"Dragon, I _think_ you might be too hard on this stuff." Pequod said. He was reclined back in his folding chair, and had one leg crossed over the other. He looked rather content and annoyed that the lady next to him was disturbing his quiet. Especially considering he had planned to toke up later.

"No I'm not. Not when you could be drinkin' this." Dragon reached into the bag she'd brought with her. Pequod fully opened his eyes now.

"Is that…Guinness?" He asked. "How the hell did you afford that stuff?"

"It's not _that_ expensive, especially if you know who to order it from." Dragon said with a wink. "I have a few friends in Ireland that brew the stuff and sell it to me for a discount. So, I have more than I know what to do with." She handed him a bottle. "Here. For Mr. Flyboy."

"'Mr. Flyboy?'" Pequod asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well I sure as hell aren't calling you Wing Daddy."

Pequod snorted into his first sip, nearly choking on the new drink. He managed a weak smile.

"Wiseass."

"The _correct_ term would be 'Welsh,' Poland-boy." She held up her own bottle. "Cheers!"

Pequod couldn't resist.

"The correct term is _Zdrowia_."

"…I don't know what that means."

"…"

"…No, seriously. Tell me. Did you just insult me in that weirdo language of yours? And secondly, why not just say it in English?"

" _Jeden język nigdy nie wystarcza._ "

"Christ, you sound like you're gargling sandpaper."

"Sandpaper? Oh, Quiet? Can you snipe this girl for me?"

"Pequod that's not funny."

"Yes it is."

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"So why do you listen to all of this music again and again?"

Pequod opened his eyes slightly, and flitted a look over to the person that had spoken. Spitting Dragon was leaning forward in her chair, a look of confusion as well as genuine interest on her face. He raised an eyebrow.

"Serious?"

"Yeah."

"Because I like it."

Dragon frowned.

"That's not what I meant, you jerk. I'm just wondering why this stuff in particular." Dragon said. "It's all very…retro."

"Retro?" Pequod snorted. "Are you telling me that the Stones and Genesis are _retro?_ "

"Well, you're mostly listening to stuff from the seventies and even the sixties." Dragon said. "There _is_ good stuff from the 80's, you know. And I _don't_ mean one-offs like that silly little A-ha song you and Quiet seem to enjoy so much."

"Is that so?" Pequod said, his attention now fully captured. "Then why haven't I heard it? Let me tell you: anything good that's music is from the past. Everything sucks today."

"Wow…that is the most depressingly cynical and utterly _childish_ opinion I have ever heard." Dragon said. "What, is there no hope then? Is the world doomed simply because there is no more music that could please the ear of the great and mighty Pequod, lord of the skies?"

"Okay, you didn't need to start mocking me halfway through that." The pilot said. "Because whatever reasonable point you had to begin with has since devolved into something just as childish as you claim me to be."

"You're impossible."

"It's kept me alive."

They sat there in silence for a few moments, as the drums of some deep cut Genesis song provided a background. And then Dragon spoke.

"Well, I'm gonna change that. I'm gonna prove to you that things aren't so musically hopeless as you think."

"Good luck." Pequod said with a wink, popping off the top of a bottle of Guinness.

…

BANG. BANG-BANG.

"Stop."

They all lowered their weapons, and Ocelot stepped forward. He had a look of fatherly disappointment on his face as he spoke.

"The Diamond Dogs are no tribal militia. I expect shots to be perfect." He gestured to the spray of bullets that decked the target dummies at the far end of the platform. "In the time it took you to empty a clip, your enemy got to cover, or called one of his friends to flank and finish you off. And furthermore, the scatter of bullets across the dummy? That's like a toddler spilling food over his plate. Just a waste of ammo and time." He whipped out one of his pistols, and started twirling it absently in his fingers as he walked towards the line of shooters. Once he was in line with them, at an equal distance from one of the targets, he whipped around and fired.

Each and every shot snapped the dummy's head back, and the last one knocked it clean off. He turned to face the Diamond Dogs, and holstered the pistol.

"Not a single wasted shot. Diamond Dogs don't shoot to incapacitate. In the field, we shoot to kill. Now let's see it again."

…

"You're looking well, all things considered."

"Says you. I feel like I got run over by a fuckin' truck."

"That's an improvement. Considering at the beginning you feel like you were going to die."

"I suppose so…got a light?"

"Sure."

"…"

"…"

"It's been too long, Komodo."

"Likewise, Jackal. Where's Ray?"

"He's still in ICU. He had a bit of rougher go at it than I did." Jackal subconsciously scratched the top of his very bald head. "Eh, what are ya gonna do. He'll pull through, I know it."

"I hope so."

"Yeah? Have some faith, will ya." Jackal cocked his head to the side, and fought the urge to grin. "I'm liking the shaggy hair, 'Modo. Though I don't think Jimmy Stewart ever let it get out that far, so the resemblance ain't as good no more."

"Didn't he in _Anatomy of a Murder_?"

"What? Christ, no. Jimmy never let it grow out. Also, that shit never woulda flown back in the day. They had that Hays Code thing. Can't be unkempt, even if you're a bad man."

"I dunno. He always looked a lot older than he actually was. That's unkempt, right?"

"If you're pickin' nits, maybe. But then again, I guess that gives you another thing in common with him."

"Aw, go to hell, Jackal."

"Already been there." Jackal said, smiling and revealing a missing tooth. "Pretty overrated place."

…

"How are we doing today?"

"Fine, I suppose."

"You're either lying or have a remarkable sense of humor, because you came back in covered in blood Boss." Grey Chameleon said, staring at the leader of the Diamond Dogs that currently sat on the doctor's table. The sight of the legendary soldier's legs dangling over the ledge just like any child was so ridiculous that Chameleon struggled not to laugh.

"I feel like I'm eight while sitting on this thing." Snake said. "Can't we just wrap this up?"

"One minute, Boss." Chameleon said. She looked over her notes, and then gestured for him to take off his shirt. At first, the leader of the Diamond Dogs looked almost belligerent, like a toddler, but eventually did what he was told.

Chameleon tried not to make eye contact, because if she did she was going to blush. The Boss was in phenomenal shape, especially for a man of his age. But then she blinked, and noted with a degree of shock the sheer number of scars and callouses that covered his chest and upper arms. He certainly looked the part of a career soldier. And he carried the signs in more places than one.

Just as the nasty discoloration on his left shoulder.

"Boss, can you raise your arm up in the air for me, please?"

Snake rolled his eye, and was about to do so…but then slowed down, wincing heavily. Grey Chameleon narrowed her eyes.

"Do you mind if I test that joint, Boss?"

"Go ahead, but it will be fine."

A few moments later, and it was clear that this was not the case.

"Goodness, Boss. That's a separated shoulder, alright. When do you think this happened?"

Snake was quiet. He looked like he was having trouble with the question.

"You don't remember?"

"…It might have been a few months ago that I started feeling pain. It was in a hospital."

"And you waited until _just now_ to get it checked?"

"It wasn't affecting my performance."

Chameleon decided to dispense with politeness and formality for her boss and staright-up facepalmed. She looked at him and saw that there was a slightly amused look on his face.

"Well, it would have when you went to fire a rifle and the recoil would have jarred your AC joint and torn something. _Then_ you might have had some trouble." Chameleon said. "We're gonna have to run some tests on the joint and…" She took a deep breath. "…I'm putting a moratorium on you doing field work for at least a week."

Snake blinked.

"…Excuse me?"

"Doctor's orders."

She said those words like they were a death knell. Judging the expression on his face, it was clear that he treated them as such.

…

"Permission to speak, Captain Badger?"

"Permission granted, Wounded Fox."

"I'm just wondering, ma'am, if you will, the necessity of this."

"What is there to wonder about?"

"Well, it's just…" Fox looked down at the choppy waters below them. "I was never the best at these sorts of jumps." The steady roar of the helicopter blades above them made it hard to hear, and he was thankful for the headset microphones in their helmets that made it easier to talk. Badger grinned, revealing the gold-capped tooth near the back of her mouth.

"Oh, sweetie? There nothing to a HALO jump!" Badger said, staring down at Mother Base below them. They were at least a few thousand feet up in the air, and it was enough to make the few trainees in the helicopter rather uncomfortable. All except for Badger, who seemed positively giddy at the thought of it all. "Besides, don't be a little pisser. A real HALO jump might take place at double the height of this. This is just training."

"So, uh, what's the standard procedure?" Fox asked.

"You jump out, and then pull the chute!" Badger said. "If it doesn't work, then go to the reserve chute you carry."

"…And what if that doesn't work?"

"Then I guess it's curtains!" Badger said. The others couldn't tell if she was serious or not. "Alright, Fox, you're up first!"

Slowly, the Philly native made his hesitant way to the opening of the helicopter. He grabbed the edges of the open doorway, and looked down into the watery abyss below. He looked up, and saw that there were a few other helicopters in the distance, aimlessly circling Mother Base. All were doing the same drill that they were; they were just far enough away where there wouldn't be any entanglement accidents. Somehow he wasn't comforted.

He paused.

"Jump, son!" He heard Badger shout. She was totally into this, with a big smile on his face.

"Wait! What if I mess up?"

"You won't!"

"What if the line comes loose?"

"It won't!"

"What if AIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…"

She watched him fall down towards the ground, getting smaller and smaller by the second. But then she felt herself release her held breath when the parachute deployed properly, followed by the sounds of the ecstatic screaming in her ears about whether he could do it again. Laughing, Badger turned towards the next person in line.

"Thanks again for that, Bear."

"Of course, Sister Badger. He was taking too long."

…

" _You're pulling him off duty?_ "

Chameleon winced badly. She had seen that Commander Miller could be brusque at best and downright curmudgeonly at worst, but this was the angriest that she'd ever seen him. And worse, he was directing his rage at _her._ She debated closing her eyes and waiting for the storm to blow over.

"His shoulder is near-completely wrecked." She said. "If he keeps going, he runs the risk of seriously injuring it and requiring surgery. And who knows how long that would keep him out of commission."

"Bullshit, _I want a second opinion!_ " Miller snarled.

"Miller, put a sock in it." Ocelot said, a legitimate frown on his face. "You might not know this, considering how often you're cooped up in the Command Platform, but Chameleon here is the best doctor we have on Mother Base. Especially so after the dismissal of her predecessor."

"Ostrich was a skilled doctor, and I don't know why the Boss signed off on his firing!"

"Gee, I dunno." Ocelot said, a snide tone in his words. "Perhaps it had something to do with Komodo Dragon catching him drinking on the job?"

"He was simply stressed out!"

"So is my entire Intel team, and you don't see them imbibing on duty. And before you say a damned word about him, Pequod _never_ drinks on the job."

There was a stressful silence. Chameleon felt herself sinking into the chair: it was like watching two heavyweight prizefighters gearing up for another round, the blood and sweat already pouring off of them. Finally, Ocelot spoke. He was a little gentler this time.

"Miller, what's gotten into you? No offense, but defending Ostrich? That was such a stretch it could have been used for rubber."

"It's just the _worst possible timing!_ " Miller said, slamming the desk in front of him. "Here we are, with that intelligence about the next step of our actions. Here we have a chance to _really_ get a foothold on Cipher after playing catch-up all throughout Afghanistan, and _now_ Snake's body deciding to stop cooperating?"

"Um…should I leave the room?" Chameleon squeaked. "I don't know if I'm privy to this kind of information, am I?"

"Relax, kid. You're fine." Ocelot said. He turned back to Miller. "You know…Snake isn't the only soldier that we keep on base, Miller. Diamond Dogs isn't a one man show."

"But there is no one man or woman that can replace the Boss!" Miller growled. Chameleon noticed that there was a twinge of desperation in his voice. Ocelot just chuckled.

"Then we won't just use _one_ man or woman, will we?"

"What are you suggesting?" Miller asked. Ocelot smiled.

"I'm saying it might be time to see good the Diamond Dogs really are…"

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Pequod drummed his fingers atop the surface of the table. He was sitting at the back of the room, preferring to be in an area where the lights weren't the strongest. The others that had been called into the briefing room were few in number. That alone tipped the pilot off to the thought that this was no average mission. That, plus the fact that they had been instructed to report at 1800 sharp (right in the middle of dinner, no less) and there was still no sign of any commanding presence made it clear that something was up. If it was one of the regular base commanders, they'd be there sharp. It was usually Ocelot that was a few minutes late to every briefing.

When he'd asked about it, Ocelot had told Pequod that he enjoyed making people sweat a little bit.

The door opened off to the side of the room, and true to form Commander Ocelot came out front and center. Pequod was surprised, however, to see that Commander Miller was also with him. Those two _never_ gave orders together.

"Alright, looks like everyone is here." Ocelot said. He tapped a manila folder in his hands. "While Miller here warms up the projector, I'd like to make it clear that everything you hear in this room is strictly confidential, and you are not to disclose your mission orders with anyone on Mother Base."

There was a tense silence as these words were taken in. The wall behind Ocelot turned blue as the projector screen came to life, and soon there were several photos of people up on the wall.

"These are several high-level British officials in the CFA." Miller began. "They're currently being held captive by their Afrikaner colleagues."

"So we rescue all of them, then?" Wounded Fox asked. He was one of the few people recruited for this mission, though it was clear that he wasn't leading it. Miller stared at him coldly.

"Wait your turn, soldier. Our target is an individual known as 'the Viscount.' He's a mysterious individual, but the people contacting us for this mission have made it very clear that he must be rescued. He is priority number one."

"What about the others?" Fox asked.

Miller just stared at him, and Fox fell silent.

"The mission parameters are simple. A small fireteam of three individuals will make their way into the area, and will locate the Viscount. Once he's been recovered, you are to exfiltrate the area. Pequod and his chopper will be standing by for an immediate evac. The pick-up point is marked _here_ on the map." Miller said. He gestured to a spot that had been highlighted. "If you have any questions, now is the time. Otherwise, your orders are simple search and rescue."

No one said anything.

"Good. Pequod will be departing in an hour. It's a bit of a trip to get to the Angola region. Make sure you have everything that you need. Dismissed."

The others in the room shuffled out, leaving Pequod behind. He knew that there was a reason for it, however.

"You wanted me to stick around, sir?" He asked, looking pointedly at Ocelot and not Miller.

"Yeah." Ocelot said. "You've been doing a darned good job flying the Boss in and out of hot zones, but for a mission like this we figured it might be nice to give you some backup."

Pequod chuckled.

"Backup? All I need is enough fuel and ammo and I can make do with just about anything."

"I get that, kid. But here's the thing. This isn't your call to make. Consider it some on-site training." Ocelot said. "We're designating you a co-pilot."

There was a dead silence in the air. Miller smirked when he spoke.

"Why, Pequod, you look like someone just walked over your grave." He said.

…

As the sun was going down, Wounded Fox checked his equipment. He had brought his UN-ARC assault rifle, a tranquilizer pistol, and a couple of smoke grenades. He saw that the Intel team representative was his old friend Fighting Osprey, who was packing a silenced AK-47 and equal equipment to match Fox. But their commanding officer was…

"Hey, honey!" Howling Badger said. She had just finished racking her rifle up on the ceiling of the ACC, and turned to help Wounded Fox get his things aboard as well. "Excited for some field work?"

"Yeah, I am." Fox said. "I mean, I usually do the clean-up stuff after the Boss has already cleared out an area, so this is my first pro-active mission but…" he trailed off. "I'm ready!"

"Of course you are." Badger said with a grin. "Just follow my lead and it will all work itself out." She turned to Osprey. "You familiar with the kinds of languages we'll run into in Angola?"

"There's most likely going to be English, Afrikans, and maybe Kikongo." Osprey said. "I'm pretty fluent in Afrikans, but I'll really have to listen hard for Kikongo. That's a rough language for me to understand, though I speak it alright."

"That's moreso than I can." Badger said. "And I doubt Philly here can speak much Kikongo."

"Ki-what now?" Fox asked.

"My point exactly." Badger did one last check-through of everyone's equipment, and signaled for the pilots that everything was all clear.

…

Sitting up in the pilot's seat, Pequod did his best not to acknowledge the presence next to him. He was so used to be in charge of everything up on the helicopter by himself, that the very thought of a co-pilot was anathema to him.

And to make matters worse, this was who they'd assigned to him.

"Ready to get things taken care of, boss?" Spitting Dragon asked, looking at Pequod and winking. Somehow, her Welsh accent just made that innocently coy tone of voice all the more infuriating. He just nodded, and flipped the switches up on the dash to start warming Baby up.

Behind them, in the ACC, the three Diamond Dogs were all getting themselves acclimated to their new ride.

"Aw, that's adorable." Badger said to herself quietly. "The Boss hangs up pictures of people."

"Really? I wondered what all of those things were." Fox said. "Think I'm on one of the walls."

"Doubt it."

"Fuck off, Osprey."

"Both of you, cool it." Badger said, somewhat sternly. "There's far too little space for you to get into one of your little slap-fights on the helicopter. And I imagine that Pequod will throw you overboard if you do."

"Believe it!" Spitting Dragon said, as the helicopter started to lift off of the pad.

Even Pequod had to smile at that one.

…

They stayed at a friendly (and off-grid) base after having flown for twelve hours, allowing them to properly plan for a night-time extraction. Ocelot had estimated, based on the urgency of the intelligence that his Intel Team had given him, that the Viscount, whatever his name was, had roughly three days before he was worthless to his captors and they'd just get rid of him. So if the timing worked out, this night would be the night that he either outlived his usefulness…or the Dogs reached him first.

It was just past sunset as Baby flew low over a forest that seemed to be placed in the middle of an African plain as a sort of oasis. At this light, the helicopter looked no different than any of the others that might fly through the area, or even masquerade as one of Cipher's.

"Not picking up any air traffic." Spitting Dragon said. "Though there's an airport a little bit south of here. I don't think we want to get too close to that: they might start asking questions."

"Understood." Pequod said. He tilted the navigational controls, and Baby began to descend near the drop-off point.

"Remember boys: no chatter unless necessary. They'll pick something up otherwise." Badger said. The other Dogs, having applied camoflague warpaint, nodded in unison.

Baby had reached a safe drop-off point, and the doors to the ACC hissed open.

"Go!" Badger hissed.

…

Fox hit the ground with a shock. He shook his feet out a little bit, and looked around. There was a whistling of wind in the air, but other than that no inclement weather of note. Osprey had landed right next to him, and Badger was right in front of them. Wordlessly, the two of them fell in behind her to form a triangle shape. Slowly, they made their way through the dark, with only the sounds of crickets around them.

Presently, they came upon the village. There were lights in a few of the huts, and there were guards in the towers and patrols going in and out of the main road. Badger held up a hand, and the others sank down to their knee behind her. She slowly brought her hand over to her lapel, where she kept a radio, and pressed the communication button.

"Base, this is Diamond One. Have visual confirmation on village, over." She whispered.

There was a pause.

" _Diamond One, this is Base. You're a little choppy, but we can read you. Try to find information on where the Viscount is being kept. Use whatever resources you have at your disposal. Base out._ "

With Miller's voice no longer in their ears, Badger slowly turned to face the two men behind her.

"You two make your way into the village. Through that building right there." She pointed to one of the huts on the edge. "Get a read on the Viscount's location, and then let me know when you've got him."

"What are you going to do?" Fox asked. Badger just smiled.

"When you give the word, I'll run interference. But don't worry." She drew her weapon, a high-scoped AM-MRS-4 with laser sight and suppressor. "I'll be with you." She then gestured forward. "Move up. I'm going to find a better lookout point."

Fox barely got in a word before she seemingly melted into the darkness.

"…Shit." Osprey said after a moment. "We're screwed."

"Keep it together." Fox whispered, motioning for the Afghan to follow him towards the house in question. "Just follow my lead, and we'll get the Viscount's location."

"…Screwed."

"Fuck _off._ "

…

Badger slowly crept through the tall grass, keeping to the edge of the camp. There were an awful lot of soldiers on duty right now, but from the body language of most of them they looked like they were bored out of their skull. That might make things a little bit easier.

She stopped moving in the middle of a patch of tall grass, and saw that there was a soldier idly waiting over by the foot of a guard tower. He was enjoying a cigarette before he went back on duty. She debated shooting him then and there, but sat and waited. After a few moments, he crushed the butt under his shoe, and started climbing the ladder up to his post. As soon as he'd started climbing, Badger slinked up to the base of the tower, and started climbing up after him. She took great pains not to move out of synch with him, lest he notice that something was up. When he'd gotten up to the tower itself, she waited. Waited for him to relax and forget about watching his flank. Her eyes were level with his shoes, and her hands were resting on the edge of the tower floor. She lurked, and waited.

And then she sprang upwards, propelling herself up by pushing down on her hands. The poor bastard didn't even see her until she'd already locked in the chokehold, and in mere seconds he was snoring. Badger smiled.

"Sweet dreams, honey."

She kissed him on the cheek. And then she ziptied his hands and feet together, and covered his mouth with some packing tape (while leaving plenty of room for his nostrils and a slit in the tape for him to breathe). She set herself up on the edge of the tower, and peered down with her scope. She watched the two boys work up the nerve to get inside one of the buildings, and smiled despite herself.

This was just like hunting game back home in the outback.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

They ran into trouble almost immediately.

"Shit. Patrol coming. Get in that house!" Fox whispered harshly. Osprey didn't need to be told twice: the Afghan effortlessly dove into the open door. In retrospect, it was a foolish decision: without checking to clear the building, he could have been mulch for whomever was waiting for him. If there was someone waiting for him. But he'd lucked out. There was no enemy in the hut. Fox followed in after him, and gently shut the door after him.

It was after the two of them sat down to reassess the situation that they realized they weren't alone.

There was a woman tied up in the corner of the room. Her mouth was duct taped shut, and her eyes were wide and darting back and forth between the two of them. Osprey instinctively raised his rifle towards her, but then Fox batted it down.

"Dude, what the fuck? She isn't gonna gat us with her hands tied up!"

"Sorry, I'm nervous!" Osprey hissed back. "I'm usually support staff. This is my first time in the field to fight." He looked back at the woman. "Who is she?"

"My guess is someone those bastards out there aren't happy with." Fox said.

"What do we do?" Osprey asked. Fox looked at him like he was missing his head.

"You serious?" We're getting her out of here."

"Fox, the mission was to get-"

"I _know_ what the mission was." Fox said, an annoyed look on his face. "But there's a way around that." He looked over at the woman. "First let's see if this broad can understand us."

The lady started to glare at him. Fox smiled a toothy grin.

"Ok, looks like she speaks English." He drew his knife out. The woman started to frantically thrash about. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Shush, shush. I'm here to help you, lady." He made a motion like he was cutting something. "Gonna get you out, but you gotta keep quiet. You dig?"

The woman nodded feverishly. Fox effortlessly cut the ropes binding her ankles and feet. And then he gently pulled off the tape.

"Who…who are you?" The woman asked, beads of sweat on her forehead. Fox and Osprey looked at each other, and then Fox smiled again.

"Call us Diamond Dogs, sweetheart."

The lady's eyes widened.

"The Dogs?" She remarked.

"Oh you've heard of us!" Fox said, a little bit loud. Osprey clamped his hand over the Philly native's mouth, a panicked look on his own face.

"Are you _crazy_?" He hissed. He looked back at the woman. "We're looking for someone."

"And you're here to rescue me?" The woman asked. "But there are others!"

That hit them both.

"…What do you mean…others?" Fox asked.

…

From her perch in the guard tower, Badger felt an aching in her bones. She never liked it when she got that feeling. It meant that something was about to happen that was going to put any of her previous plans to pot. The fact that Fox and Osprey hadn't come out of that building in a while now was starting to make her ache even more. She didn't want to come down there and drag them by the ears out into the open.

But at the same time, there was no way that she could let them take too long on the mission.

Swearing violently to herself, Badger started to climb down the tower ladder and put on her night-vision goggles. When she found the Viscount and they were all safely aboard Pequod's ship, she was going to remind those two pups just what it meant to _follow orders._

"…So there's four of you, not counting the Viscount?" Fox asked. The woman had drawn a crude map in the dirt ground to mark houses. The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Randy's calling himself the _Viscount?_ " She made a choking noise in the back of her throat. "He was always so full of himself. And now he's selling the rest of us out."

"Hang on there, sweetheart." Fox said. "We're supposed to rescue this mug. What do you mean, he's selling you out?"

…

Badger crept through the shadows. Slowly but surely, she made her way around the corner of one of the huts. There was a pair of gentlemen, most likely private contractors, standing next to a campfire, discussing something. There was a person in bindings on the ground next to them. That was odd. Intelligence suggested that the Viscount was going to be somewhere secure. Why would they be leaving him out to dry like that?

She stood up to turn back the way she came, and practically bumped into one of the PFCs guarding the village.

Reacting fast, Badger pushed the man up against the wall and kissed him as hard as she could. The man practically went rigid, having no idea what the hell was going on. That gave Badger enough time to pull out her silenced tranquilizer pistol and fire a dart into the man's neck. He slumped to the ground in a combination of kiss catatonia as well as tranquilizing agents. Badger spit bitterly on the ground. She never liked pulling that trick: most men in this profession never brushed their teeth nearly as much as they should.

At that moment, she became away of a snapping noise. She froze in both horror and rage. There was only one thing that that could have been.

…

"Are you sure that this is safe?" The woman asked.

Osprey fastened the harness to her.

"Most Fulton extractions have a 90% success rate."

"…Yeah? What about that other 10%?" She asked. Osprey shook his head.

"Margin of error." He said. "And I'm not most people. I can hook people up secure and get them back to Mother Base in one piece. But it'll be really fast and really exhilarating and really scary. So hang on tight."

"Hang on tiaaaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" The woman soon disappeared into the night sky. Both Fox and Osprey watched her go, and then Fox spoke.

"You ever stop to wonder how those things really work and all?" Fox asked.

"I usually don't. And that's probably for the best." Osprey said.

They became aware of suppressed gunfire and the sounds of shouting off to the side of the camp.

"Fuck! That's gotta be Badger!"

"Then we gotta hustle to get the rest of the prisoners out of here." Osprey said. "Remember where the next one was?"

"Yeah, that hut up there. Let's move!"

…

Badger felt the bullets whistling around her, nowhere near her hiding position and yet still too close for comfort, and try as she might all she could think about was how _disappointed_ she was in Fox and Osprey. They had gotten her creaky bones out of position, and now she had to cause a distraction by running interference. She _hated_ running interference. It was messy and never ended well.

She fired off a burst and saw the man's head explode. She'd probably overdone it with the modifications to her rifle, but sometimes it was best to be a bit showy with how you killed someone. It put some fear into your enemies. Made them hesitant. Made them wanna stop and think.

Which in turn would give her time to re-adjust her position and out-flank them. Howling Badger didn't get to be this age in the profession she was in by being stupid, after all.

…

They were sitting in the cockpit, some music gently floating through the back of the ACC. Pequod was resting his cheek on one of his hands, his eyes half-closed in sheer boredom. Dragon was resting her eyes. That's what she said she was going to do. Instead, he could hear her snoring away. It was a somewhat peaceful noise, and he was absolutely going to mock her endlessly for it.

There was an explosion in the distance, and he saw one of the huts go up in flames. The sound and fire was enough to get Dragon to wake. She let out a yawn.

"Is it fireworks here?" She asked sleepily. Now fully awake, Pequod started pressing the necessary buttons to wake Baby up and out of her long slumber. He muttered the only thought that was in his brain, repeated ad nauseum.

"Goddamn it, Fox."

…

"Okay, that's the third prisoner!" Fox said, watching as the guy went soaring into the sky. "How many Fulton kits did you bring?" He asked Osprey.

"Just got one left." He said. "And I think that the Viscount and the other prisoner are being held in the same place so-"

At that moment, bullets started peppering the ground around them.

"Shit!" Fox shouted, ducking low and starting to crawl for cover through the tall grass. Osprey followed him at his six.

"Where the fuck did they come from?" Osprey growled.

"Must have been because we weren't watching our six…" Fox said. "Aw, Christ. Badger's gonna skin us."

"Speak for yourself, dummy. You're the one that dragged me into this mess!"

"And you're the one that agreed to Fulton three prisoners out of here!"

"Shut up!"

Fox rolled over onto his back, and looked towards one of the houses. He reached in his belt and pulled out a grenade.

"Osprey!" He shouted over the din. "Second hut from the left, with the overhang roof! Did the lady say that there was anyone in there?"

"She said there was no prisoner of note in there. And nothing that she saw of importance."

"Good!"

Fox tossed the grenade. He had been a baseball player in high school; he was proud of his accuracy. And the sight of that grenade going through the window of the house made him believe that he'd nailed the best throw of his life.

And then the house went up in flames.

"Holy _shit!_ " He shouted. "You see that shit blow?"

…

Badger had just left the house when it blew up into millions of splinters. She was knocked to her stomach, but managed to roll out of it. She didn't bother turning around and seeing what had caused it.

"Boys…" She muttered.

There was only one house that mattered now. At this rate, they were probably getting ready to splatter the Viscount's brains across the floor. So now Badger had to take a risk.

She ran up to the front door, and rapped on it sharply. She then raced over to the side of the house, and tossed in a smoke grenade that she'd already primed. She heard coughing and hacking, and then she doubled back around and leapt through the back window, shattering the glass. She had her night vision goggles on, so it was easy to cut through the smoke. And each and every one of her targets were staggered and made for easy pickings.

So that made things easy. For once.

But there were two prisoners on the ground. One of them didn't have his mouth taped. And he looked relieved.

"Oh thank god, you must be the Dogs. Get me out of here!"

"Hold on, sweetie." She said. She knelt next to the woman next to him. "This lady's a bit cut up."

"She sold us all out! They just decided to have some fun with her." The man said. "That's what you get for trying to get yourself rescued only, you _bitch!_ " He spit derisively at the woman next to him. She was sobbing, so Badger turned towards the man.

"Don't make me smack you, son. I'm here to rescue you but that doesn't mean that things are gonna have to be comfortable." She brushed the tears away from the woman's cheek. "There, there. Don't worry, sweetie. I'm gonna get you some help."

"Are you crazy?" The man snarled. "She was a spy from another company and then worked to betray us!"

"You never said that she was a spy before." Badger said, raising an eyebrow. The man gulped.

Ultimately, she got both of them out of the building. Pequod was hovering over the LZ. And there, in the center of the destroyed town, were two very guilty-looking Diamond Dogs. Fox stepped forward.

"Ma'am, I can expl-"

 _SLAP._

Badger left a red imprint on his cheek with the back of her hand.

"I don't _care_ that you wanted to go and save everyone else in the camp, we had a mission!" Badger said. "We were supposed to get the Viscount and no one else!"

"But ma'am, they're all prisoners of these fuckers." Fox said, rubbing his cheek. "We couldn't just let them get tortured or killed."

"Fox, regardless of your moral feelings on the matter _or_ whether you're right about something, our orders for this mission were clear." Badger said. "And if you wanted to change the parameters of the mission, it should have been up to you to notify me. Breaking radio silence to ask that question is acceptable." She turned towards Osprey. "You! Get the prisoners aboard the helo. Have Pequod radio in and tell Mother Base. I'm not in the mood to take credit for this 'successful' mission."

Fox was about to speak, but then he was stopped.

"Fox, we just burned down a village in order to save a few people. Who knows how many people out there we might've deprived of homes in order to do this? There are tactical appraisals to every situation, soldier. This is _not_ a game! There are consequences. And if something had gone even slightly differently…we'd be dead."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry-"

"Save it." Badger said. "Besides, I'm not the one you're gonna have to explain this to."

She hopped into the helicopter, and held out her hand for Fox to grab.

"Tell it to the Boss when we get back."

And somehow that was the scariest thing she'd ever said to him.

A/N: AND WE RETURN! A bit of a brief chapter as I essentially inject a little bit of life into my story. It'll start flowing more in the future, but for now gotta take baby steps to ease myself back into the plot. Feel free to check out, in addition to this story, my two new stories on my profile for both Fallout and Mass Effect.

See you next time!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"Do you ever feel sorry for the Boss?"

Pequod looked over towards Dragon. The two of them had finished cleaning out Baby's interior after coming back from that mission with Osprey, Fox and Badger, and were sitting on folding chairs watching the sun set in the distance. Dragon had a book in her lap, though Pequod wasn't able to tell what it was. He took a pull from his Guinness, and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"It's just…he's been through a lot, hasn't he?" Dragon asked. She set down the book and looked at Pequod. "I mean, I've only been one of you guys for a short amount of time, but in the few times that I've seen the Boss it just feels like the weight of the world is hanging over his shoulders." She looked out over the water, and then looked back over her shoulder towards the top of the Command platform, where the Boss held his private meetings with Commanders Miller and Ocelot. "He just seems so tired all the time, and so…sad."

Pequod let out a sigh.

"Yeah, Boss had a rough go of it the past ten years or so."

"Do you know what happened?" Dragon asked. "I mean, I know you weren't there but have you heard anything?"

Pequod took another pull from his bottle, and then realized that it was empty. He just dropped it on the helipad with a loud _clink_ , and looked over at Dragon.

"Yeah, I know what happened. Sort of, anyway."

Dragon was expectantly silent. So Pequod took a deep breath.

"Boss was in charge of another operation like this one. Except we weren't called Diamond Dogs. I think it was _Militaires Sans Frontieres,_ or something like that. Soldiers without Borders. And we had a Mother Base, but it was based in the Carribbean I think. Not sure where, though." He said. "It was all in the 1970s, right when the Sandinistas in Nicaragua were stirring things up. And Boss covered his tracks well, but he was pretty intimiately involved with that whole thing. Dad told me about it."

"Really?" Dragon asked.

"Oh yeah." Pequod said. "But then things went bad." He shook his head. "Boss and the others got bamboozled by this lady. Don't remember…was it…yeah, it was Paz. Don't remember her full name; it was something weird. But she joined the MSF, and things seemed ok. But then things went to shit."

"…What do you mean?"

"Paz was part of Cipher." Pequod said. "She double-crossed Boss, and then stole a Metal Gear with the intent to do…Christ, I dunno. Destroy the world? Prove some crazy-ass point? Don't ask me to explain Cipher's motives: they seem pretty dumb to me. Either way, Boss defeated her and she disappeared…until we heard that she was captured in some black site in Cuba."

"And you flew in there to save the Boss?" Dragon asked.

Pequod was quiet for an awfully long time.

"No." He said finally. "My father flew him in."

"Oh." Dragon said. "… _Oh._ " She said again, as realization overcome her. "Oh, I'm so sorry Pequod."

"It's alright." Pequod said. "My father died fighting for something that he believed in. How were we supposed to know that the people torturing Paz put bombs in her?"

"Oh god…" Dragon said. And then something came to mind. "Pequod, how _do_ you know all of this? You weren't there, and I cant imagine that the Boss discloses this information lightly."

"You're right, I wasn't." Pequod said with a little grin. "But Boss doesn't keep everything to himself. He tells a lot to Commander Ocelot, and every now and then Ocelot lets me in on what the Boss is going through. Because if I'm responsible for getting the Boss in and out of danger, then I should know what kind of man I'm dealing with."

He looked over and saw that Dragon was smirking at him.

"What?" He asked.

"Commander Ocelot told you that?" She asked.

"…Yeah?"

"He's got a soft spot for you, doesn't he?" Dragon asked. Pequod furrowed his brow in confusion.

"I don't think so."

"I do." Dragon said. She had a smug little grin on her face. "I've seen the way that he talks to you every now and then. I think that he thinks of you as someone to look out for."

"…Oh." Pequod said. "Well, that's nice of him."

"Ugh. Men. Never able to admit when they're touched by something."

"Do you _want_ to clean out Baby's innards by yourself?"

"Hey!"

…

He was surprised to see that he wasn't the only one out on this platform. It was currently under construction, no doubt as an addition to the medical platform, but right now it was pretty barren. He usually came out here to have a cigarette and think to himself about whatever it was that was on his mind. But now he saw that he'd have to socialize.

"Badger." He said, getting her attention.

Howling Badger was in off-duty fatigues, and she looked over her shoulder to see Komodo Dragon approach her.

"Oh, hey Honey."

"You gotta cut that out." Komodo said. He lit a cigarette with his lighter, and then offered one to Badger. "It's hard enough getting the young kids on the base to respect me without you going and calling me these ridiculous pet names."

Badger chuckled.

"Please. You're just as touchy as your namesake."

"And you're just as obnoxious as yours." Komodo said with a smirk. He sat down next to her. He looked over, and gave a little grin with his cigarette dangling loosely in his mouth. "Huh. I never thought I'd see you out of combat gear or a stealth suit."

"A lady can wear whatever she damn well pleases when she's my age and tired." Badger said. "And I am _very_ tired."

"Doesn't get any easier, does it?" Komodo asked. Badger just chuckled.

"Oh, please! Listen to you: you're at least ten years younger than me and _you're_ complaining about being old?"

"We're both soldiers. The fact that you and I made it to 57 and 45 respectively makes us both equal: older than dirt." Komodo said.

"Heh, I suppose so." Badger said. She looked at Komodo and tilted her head to the side.

"How's therapy going?"

"It's going. I'm having an easier time of it sleeping these days." Komodo said. "The nightmares are supposedly a projection of my own guilt."

"Over what?"

"The fact that I wasn't there at Mother Base to help the Boss."

"Oh, Honey. If you were at Mother Base with the rest of them you would be dead like the majority of them."

"But I might have taken a few of those bastards with me."

"You need to stop thinking like that." Badger said, frowning a bit. "Besides, now you've got an entire new generation of soldiers with you, and with it comes the new knowledge of who we're fighting. If you'd been there all those years ago, you'd be dead and you wouldn't even know who it was that killed you. Now…now you know. And now you can avenge them all."

Komodo let the smoke billow out his nostils.

"Yeah…" He said. "I guess so." He just shrugged.

They sat there in silence, enjoying one another's company as the sun started to set.

…

"Are you certain?"

"Positive." Gey Chameleon said. Commander Miller looked absolutely overjoyed.

"Thank goodness! I heard from specialist Badger that the previous mission was shaky without the Boss' steady hands guiding it."

"Is everyone okay?" Chameleon asked.

"To my knowledge, yes." Miller said. "And somehow we managed to extract all necessary VIPs…and some _un_ neccesary VIPs." He said. "But that is of no concern to you, Doctor." He said. He turned around and started to walk towards the door. "I will relay your update on the Boss' condition to Commander Ocelot as soon as possible. I am sure that he wil be very pleased to hear about this."

…

Osprey and Fox sat in the room. It was a tiny room with no windows and a small light fixture in the center of the ceiling. They were both deathly silent, save for Osprey absently tapping his foot on the ground.

"If they say anything, it was all my idea." Fox said. He was completely serene, as if he was resigned to whatever fate it was that the Boss and the others had planned for him. Osprey looked over at him in shock.

"I can't let you take the blame for that! I raced into this shit right after you!"

"Because you were trying to stop me." Fox said without even looking over at his friend. "You were the voice of reason. They'll go easy on you for that."

"…What's gonna happen to you if they eject you from the Diamond Dogs?" Osprey asked, a look of panic crossing his eyes.

"Dunno. Probably just get discharged. I might get a job with Dad back in Philly. He runs a little steel factory. I can handle a factory shift if it comes to that."

At that moment, the door opened.

It was Commander Ocelot. And standing right next to him was the Boss. The two Diamond Dogs felt themselves shrinking in their seats at the sight of the expressionless look on their commander's face. Ocelot cleared his throat, and spoke.

"According to your commanding officer, you two were involved in an unauthorized deviation from the mission parameters. Can you tell me what happened?" He asked.

There was a silence. And then Fox spoke.

"We were ordered to clear a specific building, as ordered by our commanding officer. Upon entering and clearing the building, we came across a clear prisoner of war. We found out from her that there were others like her in the camp, and that they were planned to be executed by the PMC that was holding the territory. So I made the decision to have this specific prisoner tell us where the other prisoners were, and then I had specialist Osprey over here Fulton her out." He looked at Ocelot. "Is she alright?"

"What happened next?" Ocelot asked.

"From there, we continued to make our way through the village, and eventually we were forced to engage with the enemy in order to make things clear to reach other prisoners. During this time we…lost contact with our commanding officer, and would not regain communication until the end of the mission. We destroyed an empty building in order to distract the remaining soldiers in the area, and then we rescued the remaining prisoners, including the designated VIP. It was upon that moment that our commanding officer told us that we were to be referred to you for disciplinary measures."

Fox finished his spiel, and then silently sat in his chair waiting for Ocelot to speak.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Fox?" Ocelot asked.

"Are the prisoners alive?" He asked.

"At this moment, yes."

"Then the only regret I have is that I lost radio contact with our commanding officer." Fox said.

"It's more than just that." Ocelot said. "The command structure exists for a reason. If there is no adherence to order, then everything is just anarchy. The Diamond Dogs aren't a tribal militia that throws off the shackles of command and order whenever it's convienient. We do this because it keeps us professional. And it was _very_ unprofessional to deviate from the mission parameters like that. Someone could have been hurt or killed."

And then Snake spoke.

"But your decision might have saved the mission."

"…Sir?" Osprey asked, looking on in confusion. Ocelot cleared his throat.

"Your rescue of the other prisoners confirmed to us that apparently the 'Viscount' that we were contacted to retrieve was in fact a man that had made too many poor dealings with this militia, and had concocted a scheme where we would rescue him while leaving the others in his company to die. He attempted to deny it, but when I…pressed him, he admitted everything. So your actions may have saved several innocent lives from a cruel and unusual death."

There were no words to describe what Fox and Osprey felt as they looked at one another. Snake spoke up.

"In the future, don't forget to keep a constant radio contact with your superior officer. If you had told Badger what the deal was, I have no doubt that she would have helped you in the plan completely and without any regret. Poor communication kills, gentlemen. But good communication can save lives." He cleared his throat. "You are to be commended for saving more than what we were assigned to do, but also reprimanded for breach of protocol. So I'm pulling you both off active duty for two weeks and assigning you to mess hall maintenance. Upon the completion of your punishment, you are to report to the Command Platform headquarters, where I will personally promote you both to Specialist, Grade II."

The two men in front of the Boss were dumbfounded.

"Dismissed, gentlemen."

They noticed the faintest trace of a smile as he said it.

A/N: Another one in the books! Like some said, the Boss might be pissed at the fact that decorum was broken, but at the end of the day extra lives were saved. So steps are taken to prevent worse miscommunications, and exemplary service is rewarded.

Just another day in the Seychelles.


End file.
